


Catch me on the way down - OJT2020 COMPILATION

by WHUMPBBY



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Day 6 has warnings, Jason Todd mentioned, JayDick is mentioned, M/M, Male Lactation, No beta we die like mne, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Omega Jason Todd, On day 7, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reverse Robins, and, baby Dick on a mission!, do not copy to another site, in day 6, of a kind - Freeform, omegajasontoddweek2020, unusual mer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHUMPBBY/pseuds/WHUMPBBY
Summary: THIS IS A COMP OF THE SHORTS I GOT FOR THE OMEGA JASON WEEK 2020 ;]It's easier to have them all in one place:)I will be putting any necessary warnings into the chapters themselves, as it will vary from one to another.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXOmega Jason Todd Week 2020Day1 - Reverse Robins [JayDick], GeneralDay 2 - Rumours that Jason has been marked [JayDick], GeneralDay 3 - Pack bonding [BruJay, nanny!jay AU :D], Teen and upDay 4 - Unconventional Pampering [Apollo/Jason, JayDick], MatureDay 5 - Pregnancy [JayDick, BruTalia, a bit unusual mer situation;], GeneralDay 6 - Sold to a villain [Jay/Eldritch?, this is the Dark One folks, noncon, kidnapping, non-consensual body mod], M/ExplicitDay 7 - 'Sold to a villain' [DamiJay] variation, because no one is sold and Damian is not a villain, but... he's not a terribly good guy either;], Teen and up
Relationships: Apollo/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Damian Wayne, Jason Todd/Eldritch Cult, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 182
Kudos: 620
Collections: omega Jason Todd week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

The problem with being the youngest in a family of five, was that everyone wanted to either get on your case or mother you excessively. The problem with being a baby of the pack, it would seem, was that you were either left to your own devices due to the older pack-members having their own lives to live or smothered with attention when they were trying to make up for it.

Sometimes it was worth it –Dick loved getting free stuff and going out with his siblings and having them pay for stuff. He loved to bond with Damian and Tim, and Cassie. It was good to be noticed, to be spoiled if even for a while.

Other times were worse. The times when one of them decided to hunt his ass and impart the sage advice that nine extra years of life had given them.

“Dami, as much as I’m happy to see you, I have a mission in half an hour.” It was Dick’s polite way of trying to signal to his older brother that he didn’t want to talk about the subject the older alpha came to the Titan’s Tower to talk about.

Dick didn't need that sort of advice. He was seventeen, he wasn’t a pup, he probably had more romantic experience than his stuck up older brother did!

“It’s just a stake-out, you can do it in your sleep.”

It was a bit flattering and a lot annoying how Damian dismissed the attempt. Dick tried to focus on the positive. Always focus on the positive, his mom used to say.

He rolled his eyes and flopped down on the edge of his bed, a picture of a surly teenager he knew would annoy his brother. And indeed, Damian’s eyebrow notched up, unimpressed with the display. At least he had the good grace to take the mask off when he appeared in Dick’s quarters, coming to him like a packmate, not Red Bat.

“I know you’re hoping to see him out there, Richard.”

Oh wow, ouch, Damian didn't pull his punches, did he?

“Well yes,” Dick admitted easily, “Julio Marconi is the target of the stake-out after all,” because he was a brat.

“Don’t be a brat,” the older alpha countered flatly. “I am serious about this.”

“Then speak your piece and don't play games with me. You’re not dad.”

Because Dick knew that tactic, knew it all too well. He grew up around people who spoke two words and followed with silence, expecting you to fill in the rest. Exuberant and chatty as he was, Dick was a victim of said strategy for years before he figured it out and stopped playing along. If they wanted conversation from him, they had to do their part, it was a two-way street after all.

He loved his family, he did, but the emotional labour sometimes required to deal with them was unfair to carry alone.

The only one person who didn't do it –who wasn’t so stuck in playing mind-tricks on people to the point of bringing them home was… well. Was not there. Not there for a while.

Until recently.

Damian looked frustrared with Dick’s lack of compliance, it gave him a vaguely constipated look that was quite amusing. The alpha always tried to play someone unmoved and stoic, but Dick saw underneath that courtain enough times to know it was just another mask in a family full of them to the roof.

“Well?” Dick raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across the chest, impatience shining through. “You have twenty five minutes now.”

The alpha scoffed, but he didn't budge. “Maybe take a page out of Tim’s book and send an email, instead? I will answer it at my earliest convenience.”

He knew he was walking on thin ice, but Dick was a baby of the pack and he was never afraid of any of them. He knew that a part of a leeway he got was steeped in a tragedy that befell them all five years ago, and sometimes he felt ashamed to enjoy it… but, in the end, it was their choice to treat him like a pup, not his. He only reaped the benefits.

In the end he held on under Damian’s hard glare and didn't budge. It was his territory now, he was a growing alpha and he wasn’t going to bare his belly that easily. Especially when it came to personal stuff. They had no right to dictate his emotions.

Damian had to realise that, because a moment later the glare subsided, his green eyes gentled and he sighed heavily, moving to sit next to Dick. Finally, an older brother instead of the pack’s alpha enforcer. It ranked only a bit that the mattress bent under his weight, lifting Dick up as if he was a feather. It was so unfair that his last growth spurt didn't account for much growth!

“What am I going to do with you, Richard?” The alpha muttered.

“You can stop trying to intimidate me into submission.” Retorted Dick. He gave up on the man not using his full name a longtime ago. “And stop assuming to know what I’m thinking, it just makes you unbearable.”

“I only want what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, you all keep saying that. You, dad, Tim, Cass… and somehow it rarely seems to include things I want for myself.”

That came out unexpectedly, for both of them it would seem. Damian looked at him, startled, his wide shoulders raising defensively. Dick bit his lips, unsure of himself. He didn't plan to go there, to air these old rags –but then, what else was this about than his personal agency once more being endangered by the well-meaning of his pack?

“I just want you safe.” And there it was! “I…”

There it _always_ was!

“A bit late for that,” Dick quipped, swinging his legs once. He pointed to the emblem on his chest. “By a few years at least.”

“Will you let me finish?” The alpha snapped, following it with a deep, calming breath. “I meant both of you! I want both of you safe.” He stopped, took another breath, pinched the top of his nose in such an Alfred-way. “He’s out there, yes, but he’s not in a good place. We are watching him, alright? Can you imagine Bruce not setting up surveillance for after…”

“After he stabbed him in the neck and left him to die?”

The wall around Damian’s emotions appeared out of thin air, the alpha shot right up, tall and stiff, frozen in a moment of indecision. Dick almost swallowed his own tongue, but the cat was out of the bag, there was no stepping away from that one, was there?

And, above all else, he discovered that the rush that came over him after the words left his mouth wasn’t shame or regret –it was anger.

“You don't know what you’re talking about.”

He could see Damian closing off, turning away, probably preparing to leave as the talk didn't go the way he had planned. Like father did. Like they all did. And Dick was so, _so angry_. Angry enough to stand and get in the face of the pack’s second alpha, to stop him from leaving with an open challenge.

“Don’t you dare to pull that card!” He snapped. “We’ve all seen what the cowl recorded, we’ve all heard what was said! There’s nothing ‘to get’, no mysterious motive to unearth, his choice was obvious! He made it in the heat of the moment and it was a mistake!”

“Richard!”

“He kept everything secret and it went in alone, and it bit all of us in the ass! That you can stand here and try to defend him to my face…”

“Richard!” Damian went to grab his flailing arms, but Dick stepped away with a swiftness none of the family could match.

“That’s the reason I’m _here_ , not in Gotham!”

Another pause. This one more painful. Ah, to hell with it!

“I’m here ‘cause ever since… I can’t stand you!” He seethed. Finally allowed himself to pour out that cup of poison slowly gathering on the bottom of his heart. His eyes prickled and in the past maybe he would have hated it, but not now. Not when it marked him as the most _honest_ member of the pack. “I was the one he beat up, not you! Not Cass! I’ve known him for the shortest time out of all of you, so why am I the one who is trying to do _something_ now?! You’re all just… just walking around sad and betrayed, while he’s out there, alone and in pain, and all you can do is set up surveillance! Did you speak to him?!”

He left a moment of silence to roll, a pause meant to allow an answer. _Any_ answer.

“Did you try?!” He didn’t like the way his voice broke on the last word and from the looks of it, his brother liked it even less.

Damian spoke softly, haltingly, after another moment passed in tense silence. “He’s elusive. Not easy to catch up to. We know that he’s there, but he’s… he went deep down.”

“Yeah, he did, because he’s hurt.” _Because you hurt him_ , went unsaid, but not unheard. “Yet you can still _see_ _enough_ of him to warn me off, somehow.” Though it didn't mean much. “And I bet dad is all over that, isn’t he? Spending nights with the surveillance vids and feeling so damn bad about being a terrible alpha to the only omega in the…”

“That is _enough_!”

The growl reverberated up Dick’s spine, raising the hair on his body as it went. An angry alpha crowded him against the wall, hackles raised and eyes gleaming.

And alright, Dick did go too far, _maybe_. He did stab at one of the things Damian held sacred above all other things, the respect for his pack alpha didn't allow him to not react. Dick loved Bruce, he loved his dad with everything he had, but the difference was that he had a good example to compare him to and as of late, Bruce wasn’t measuring up.

“You have no idea what he went through when Jason died!” Damian snapped, baring his teeth in warning. “You have no idea what it did to him, to see his pup return like that! You have no right!”

But then again, Dick was on his own ground, he wasn’t a pup anymore to be disciplined and cowed, and this time it wasn’t about swinging from the chandelier. This time it was bigger and more important, and he _was_ in the right.

“I have no idea what happens in dad’s head, yeah, but I _know_ how it feels to _lose a pack_ that loved you!”

He pushed Damian, struggled to move him back. The height and weight difference was substantial, but Dick was full of tricks and his brother was off his game. Or maybe he just wasn’t that invested in being intimidating. Didn’t matter, Dick was in the right!

Out of all the broken pieces the Wayne pack has gathered, he was the only one who had a happy childhood, the only one who lost something good and understood how much such a loss hurt. Being little more than a pup himself when Jason was wearing Robin’s colours –he was the one who saw how much the pack belonging meant for the older boy.

“I know how it feels when you’re left all alone in a cruel place! And I know how it feels to be a part of a family that focuses on their own pain so much that you may as well not exist for them!”

The stunned expression on his brother’s face gave Dick courage to drain this old wound. One cut, it was all that was needed.

“You were all so damn unhappy and busy self-flagellating that nothing else mattered! And now you’re all doing it again, so sad you would rather abandon him than to try to do something about it! You’d rather talk to his old uniform than to him! I am not going to be a part of that, I have no one to punish!”

“Dick…”

“You didn't even _like_ him, you hypocrite! You didn't even _want_ him!”

The arms that enveloped him were too strong to escape. As always, emotions got the better of Dick and rendered him weak, and Damian knew him too well to release the hold.

“Let me…!”

“I _loved_ him.” Whispered suddenly into his hair in a voice so pained, Dick felt it squeeze his own throat. “I loved him so much. That’s why I didn't want him on the streets. I wanted him safe, I wanted… He was so smart and kind, and brave, and he wouldn't be contained. We’ve tried and it killed him.”

What could Dick say to that? No one in the family has ever spoken about Jason’s death like that. No one ever seemed to see him as anything else than the shredded costume locked up in a glass shrine. It was as if in their rush to mourning and guilt, they'd forgotten the boy himself, his bright smiles, his smart-ass quips; all his little quirks, like always returning to gather up batarangs, or reading in bed before sleep and the way he could be so rough around the edges and so soft at the same time. Sometimes, Dick felt as if he was the only one left to remember that Jason had a life before he died.

Only for Damian, the most stoic out of his siblings, to finally knock down that wall and show Dick that the last months of his relationship with Jason that Dick has experienced weren’t an accurate impression of it entirety. Not if the pain in the older alpha’s voice was anything to judge by.

“I can’t look him in the eyes, Dick. I can’t. Not after everything. You’re right,” Damian admitted, nuzzling Dick’s tampe in search of comfort. “It’s easier to mourn the dead, than to look at him now and know that it’s our fault. He came back angry and broken, and I don't know… I don't know how to help him.”

“He’s not broken!” Dick wrapped his arms around the man and pulled until Damian’s face rested in the crook of his neck, trying to provide some comfort with his scent. “He’s just lost. That’s why you have to let me help, Dami. You have to! I can bring him back.”

It was a bold claim. What he’d seen of his brother so far was more akin to a beast thrashing in pain than a reasonable person willing to be helped. Regardless of his near-genius takeover of Gotham’s underground, regardless of the orchestrated in detail revenge plan… Jason wasn't thinking clearly or rationally and he wasn’t the same person he was before... God knew what he went through, though, the years when he was lost had to carry an answer, something terrible had to happen.

Dick had an inkling as to the heart of the problem. Bitterness about Joker’s continued existence was one thing (contrary to Damian’s best attempts to fix that issue), but the other was, well… the other was Robin. And more to the point –Dick being Robin.

He understood how it looked. How it had to seem when it didn't even take half a year for the cape to rest, before another bird flew next to the Bats.

Dick only wanted to help, though. To keep the legacy of his brother alive, to channel his sadness, and anger and fear into something worthwhile, into something bright and good. Like Jason. His intentions were pure. However, he couldn't deny how terrible it probably looked to Jason who came back lost and alone, and replaced. But… that also made him the best person to attempt reconciliation. If he could only explain to the wayward omega his reasoning and reassure him… if Jason would listen to him for a moment...

“I can do it.”

“He’s dangerous, Richard. He’s killing people now.”

“So did you in the past, so did Cass. Doesn’t he deserve a chance?” Everyone in that damn pack seemed to have a dark past! Even Tim, the whitest of white middle-class bread, had dealings with the League of Shadows. “I’m not going to stop trying, you now. You can either help me or stay out of my way.”

He felt brave, speaking these words, brave and strong, like a proper alpha challenging his elder, chalking up the borders of his own territory for the first time.

“I will bring him home,” Dick promised full of resolve, looking into his brother's eyes without a doubt. “Just you watch.”


	2. Rumour has it your heart is soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, imagine the world in which Jason presented as an omega and didn't die -he was beaten up and tortured, but Bruce saved him in the last moment.   
> And the coddled him mercilessly, until Jay finally decided to leave.

The day was slow –which was a good thing when you were a firefighter. Slow days meant no fires to put out, no loss of property or lives. Slow days meant drills, spot-cleaning and socialising over bad coffee from the perpetually broken machine in the canteen. Jason wasn’t complaining, he wasn’t an adrenaline junkie enough to wish a disaster on anyone. To be honest, he liked hanging half-inside the car, smeared in oil and laughing at the jokes flying around. He liked when it was his day of minding the squad’s lazy live-in cat, Anubis (he bit himself on the tongue enough times, because _someone_ had to know, right?). He liked being one of the team, at the end of the day just a dude in the same smelly, dirty undershirt, with the same calluses on his hands.

It was a rare position to find yourself in as an omega, so he treasured every shift, even the really crappy ones. He fought for them, dammit.

Not the Captain, no. For being full of testosterone and bravado, fire stations across the country were surprisingly egalitarian when it came to their hiring practices –there was no reason to exclude anyone as long as they were fit physically and mentally. A wall of flame moving your way was horrifying regardless of your designation and there was no genetic advantage for an alpha to piss themselves less than an omega would in that situation. When fire roared above your head, the only things that mattered were the coolness of your head and the size of your metaphorical balls, not the number of holes you had between your legs.

Jason, as it happened, got them all: a cool head, an extra hole and balls both real and metaphorical, –hence his promising career in the business of saving cats from trees and people from burning buildings.

Mostly, though, they’ve fought with property damage, because Gotham was Gotham and it would seem that every other week some villain tried to make a point by destroying a warehouse. Or a museum. Or some poor little corner shop that got in the way of the fighting.

Jason hated when it was the corner shops belonging to innocent folk who just tried to eke out a living.

“Can’t have the Joker planting one in Bristol for once, can we?” He complained once at the end of a long day of putting out fires and securing whatever was left of a block of flats near the West Park. “No, that would be too much.”

Only for Mallory to turn his way with a raised eyebrow: “Aren’t you from Bristol, kid?”

Well, no. Yes. Kinda? He kinda was, but he didn't like to talk about it, especially not in the presence of the team. His accent served well enough to hide the last couple of years of his good fortune and brought him closer to the men and women he worked with.

Not that he was ashamed of it, but being an adopted son of the richest man in Gotham carried a host of privileges as well as drawbacks. And being _an omega_ adopted son of the richest man in Gotham?

There was a reason Jason had to fight for his job, and his flat in East Gainsly, and his freedom from the ever-present surveillance of a family full of freaks.

On that last one, he only partially succeeded, apparently.

As proven by an airy, familiar scent ambushing Jason on his cigarette break, and a familiar voice following right after. “I thought we had a discussion about smoking, Jay.”

“Yeah, we had.” Jason answered without turning around. “I decided that it was my decision to make and that was it.”

He could hear Dick closing in, could feel his scent intensifying with displeasure in the cold autumn air. Dickie boy had it out for smokers, always did. Living in the Manor, he was a constant pain in the ass about it.

“Come on, they make you smell like an ashtray.”

Jason turned around theatrically, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the approaching alpha. Petty, but fun. “And I should care, why?”

He hadn’t seen Dick in a while, it was a pleasant surprise to note that they were more or less of the height now. Jason was still a beanpole compared to his older brother, whose muscled physique was obvious regardless of the puffy jacket he was wearing. But the drills and the gym started to pay off, Jason was slowly getting there at his own pace.

“What do you want , Di…”

A blink of an eye, a swipe of a hand, and his cigarette was crushed and stomped on for good measure. “There, that’s much better.” Dick had the fucking gall to smile like an asshole he was.

“Oi, Jay, you know that guy?” His knight in shining armour stepped out of the garage with a cup of coffee in hand and an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of her lips.

Sam wasn’t tall, but she was stocky like alphas tended to be, with a square chin, muscled arms, and a sharp look in her eyes that only came with age. It was hard to believe she was going to be fifty in a year. “He botherin’ you?”

Jason shrugged. “Yes to both, unfortunately.”

“Excuse me?!” Dick changed gears faster than an eye could follow, putting on a mask of a mortally offended sibling with ease. “That’s how you treat your beloved older brother who came to take you out for lunch?” He was on the roll, too, a moment away from pouting. “I see how it is. You get a job and new friends, and suddenly it’s not cool anymore to hang out with your bro.”

Jesus Christ, he was laying on thick, puppy-eyes and a break in his voice and all. A picture of a harmless, goofy alpha sibling, all for the benefit of Jason’s co-worker, who watched the scene unfold with rising confusion and amusement. Damn his family for being such good actors.

Jay was so done. He also had only one cigarette left now, dammit.“What do you want, Dickface?”

“Now now,” Sam punched him in the arm. It hurt. “No name-calling on the premises, remember?”

“Yeah, Jay, no name-calling!” Dick parroted with a shit-eating grin and swung an arm around Jason’s shoulders, smushing them close.

“It’s his damn name!” Jason tried to ignore the little flutter in the bottom of his stomach at the sudden close proximity to the alpha. “You chose the worst iteration of your name, _Richie_ , so don't come crying about it now!”

“Oh!” Sam snapped her fingers and pointed at Dick. “That’s how I know your face! You’re the Wayne kid.”

“Well, more of a Grayson, but that’s also true.”

The dick had the gall to look sheepish, as if he wasn’t about to use his minor-celeb status to steal Jason for the duration of his lunch break and waste his time without the benefit of a cigarette.

And that was exactly what happened.

“Don’t be so sour, Jay, or your face will get stuck like that. We haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“Yeah, cause you’re living in Blud, playing cops and robbers.”

Was he bitter? Hell yeah, he was, a bit. But that was an old argument he knew he’ll never win, so Jason moved on, burying his head behind the menu. The diner Dick took them to was a decent one, Jay often had breakfast there. Their scrambled eggs were delicious and he was yet to charm the waitress into stealing the recipe for him. Han the cook was a tough egg to crack.

“Any recommendations?” Dick asked over his own menu.

“As if you haven’t already staked the place out.”

“The place? Yeah. The menu? Not yet,” the alpha admitted easily. “I’m not a regular in these parts anymore.”

“Were you ever?”

“Oh yeah, there was this cute little place two blocks from here, they had a pretty good mushroom Alfredo. I used to go there with the kids from school.” Dick stopped, as if something just occurred to him. “Wow, that was a while ago.” He looked up at Jason. “We can go one day, see if they’re still open. I think you’d like it there, they had a really nice tea selection.”

And just like that Jason’s annoyance with his brother ambushing him without prior notice frizzled out. Dick was so earnest it was hard to be angry at him. He wanted to be caustic and rude, hoping to chase the alpha off, back to Blud or the Manor, where the important things awaited –like the criminals that never slept and another brother that _needed_ care.

Alright, so he was more than _a bit_ bitter.

“How’s the Manor?” He asked offhandedly.

That made Dick perk up, “Great! Alfred sends his regards...” and then slump down when he realised he stepped right into it.

Of course, Jason wasn’t Dick’s first stop. Never seemed to be these days.

Jason didn't want to be this person, he didn't want to be this angry, needy kid that looked for signs of betrayal in every interaction with his family. But his therapist told him that finding a common ground will take time and that there will be setbacks.

Lately it seemed his life was one big setback.

“You could visit, you know. Alfie misses you.”

“He knows where I live.”

And it would be a cruel thing to say if not for a fact that Jason lived on his own for over a year now and Alfred didn't once try to visit –or even enquire about his living conditions. Whenever he came over to the Manor, the subject was never raised, as if there was nothing to talk about. The butler could have not made his disapproval with Jason’s choice any clearer.

So, Jason stopped visiting the Manor altogether. Two could play this game.

It killed him inside, but a rare phone call had to be enough.

“Jay…”

“What do you want?”

He didn't mean to snap, but all of this was throwing him off balance. Dick’s sudden visit and attempts at congeniality, as if the alpha was a part of his life in a large enough capacity that rendered this whole thing _normal_. “Or rather, what do they want? What is so important that Bruce couldn't carry on ignoring me and had to get you back to Gotham for?”

“Jason, this isn’t…”

“Sure, it isn’t!” He knew that the heads were starting to turn their way and tried to keep his voice down, but the payoff was that it started to shake. “If you wanted to meet, you could’ve called ahead, because even you are not that inconsiderate! What is it, Dick?!”

The moment was tense, silence stretching, and even worse: Dick has _that_ look on his face. The soft, regretful, _feeling_ expression that was too close to pity.

Appearance of the waitress broke the stalemate, forcing them both into acting like everything was fine and dandy. Jason habitually ordered the usual –only to realise too late that now he was trapped in the diner until the food arrived, because he was too much of a chickenshit to come off as rude and run without eating it. Damn social conventions!

Dick, unsurprisingly, ordered the same Jason had (a stack of pancakes with syrup) and, once the waitress had left, leaned over the table to whisper. “You want to know? Alright. But I won't talk about it here. Believe it or not, I want to have lunch with you. _So_ ,” he easily spoke over Jason’s raising protest, “that’s what I’m going to do. We will eat this delicious meal like a family and then we will find a quiet corner to discuss the other thing.”

If Dick wanted to calm him down and have a peaceful family lunch, this was not the way to go about it. It only left Jason nervous and resentful of it, he wasn’t a kid anymore, he shouldn’t be afraid of a possible talking to!

There was a lot of trying to avoid each-other’s eyes, some staring out the window and shifting the cutlery and condiments on the table. Then the food arrived and they had another excuse to not talk. The pancakes were delicious, dripping with syrup and butter, thick and filling. Dick insisted in paying and Jason allowed him, not like the alpha was impoverished.

He left the tip, though.

Then they left the diner and when Dick swerved into the first deserted alley on the way Jason followed him, even though the urge to keep going back to the station was strong. Thankfully, the alpha didn't lead the way to the rooftops –the family's favourite discussion spot, – Jay wasn’t as nimble as he used to be at fourteen.

They’ve stopped next to an overflowing dumpster, in a shaded corner hidden from sight of the passerbys and suspicious as all hell. Jason considered lighting a cigarette, but that would only expose how much his hands were shaking, so he just stuffed them in the pockets on his jacket and buried his nose in his scarf, knowing he looked like a kid expecting a scolding and not caring one bit.

Dick pulled himself up, back straight, expression grave.

“I won't beat around the bush.” The alpha started. “Show me your neck.”

The penguin could have jumped out of the dumpster in a cart pulled by three seals and Jason wouldn't even notice. _“What?”_

When Dick stepped forward, he stepped back. “Please, Jay, show me your _neck_.”

“Why?” He asked again, dumbfounded, one hand involuntarily going up to push his collar higher. When someone said ‘neck’ in that inflection, it was pretty obvious what part of it they meant.

Dick released a long-suffering sigh, as if he was the one put on the spot and not the one who asked for a very inappropriate thing. “So I can have a look and then go back to Bruce to tell him it’s unmarked, so he can stop wearing a hole in the carpet.”

“What?!” Oh god, he could feel his cheeks heating up. “What sort of a question is _that_?! Why would he even…?!” For a moment Jason felt like he was fourteen again, caught by Alfred with a porn magazine under his pillow. Why would Bruce think that Jason was _marked_?!

“I don't know why.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. He was visibly more uncomfortable the longer this conversation carried on. “But your heat was supposed to happen last month, wasn’t it? And it didn't happen, so now everyone is on high alert because they can’t just chill for one second.”

How in the heck did they –did _Bruce!_ –know that Jason’s heat had stalled that month?! It wasn’t something he was sharing with the world, it was his own damn business!

He has taken enough pills in the last five years to mess up his hormonal balance, which should be obvious to the World's Greatest Detective instead... instead of thinking that Jason _fucked_!

More importantly, though, _why_ did Dick decide so easily that he didn’t? Did he still see Jason as the little kid that couldn’t find a date for the school dance? Was he still a teenage loser in his cool older brother’s eyes?

"How do you know it's unmarked?" Jason’s mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to engage, because he was a cocky shit that didn't like to be underestimated.

The way Dick's expression softened was almost insulting. "Because I know you, Jay. You are a romantic at heart and you are smart, you wouldn't let just any alpha mark you."

God, how it grated to hear. As if the asshole that pissed off years ago had the right to think he knows Jason!. "How do you know I didn't find the right alpha?"

"Because you're not being courted, are you?"

"How would you know?” Jason snapped, annoyed creeping back. ” You're not here, are you? None of you are a part of my…"

Oh no. Oh _fuck_ no!

Dick’s face ran through a full gamut of emotions expressing his shock and dismay at being caught red-handed. Blue eyes wide, the alpha opened his lips to defuse the situation, probably with a well-crafted half-truth this pack was so good at.

Jason had enough of these, of this whole conversation. It was so damn stupid! It was so trite and unimportant, and _this_ was the reason for one of them to contact him? This?!

"Is the fucker watching me?" He growled, stomping closer to Dick, his anger causing the alpha to step away with his hands raised.

"Jay," Dick cautioned, obviously not prepared for the talk to go in this direction.

"Am I under a fucking surveillance?!"

"It's not like that."

"Then how is it?!” Jason’s patience was holding on by a fried thread, he honestly didn't know how his hands stayed by his sides. He wouldn't win with Dick in hand-to-hand, sure, not these days, but he could give him a workout and it would feel good to land even a single blow on that perfect face. “That's why I was _allowed_ to leave the Manor? Because he planned to… He can't be bothered to call, but he has access to my goddamn heat calendar?!"

“Jason, please calm down.”

“That is so fucking _rich_ coming from you!” His raised voice echoed back at him in the tight quarters, but Dick was the one that winced. “You threw a tantrum when Bruce as much as walked into your room! Now you come here asking if I’m some common slut and want me to stay calm?!” He stopped for a breath, used the moment to turn around and walk away, to shake out his shoulders, because good God, he was going to either punch Dick or a wall, and neither was going to end well for him. Pacing was all he had to unload a fraction of the anger that was filling him. “Let me guess, there are cameras around my block, but not in my flat, eh? Cause that would be _invasive_.”

“No,” Dick answered calmly, dusting off the sleeve of his jacket where it brushed against the wall. “There are no cameras. Jay, B really isn’t that much of an asshole you’re making him out to be. And I wasn’t implying anything, I really wasn't. I just wanted to get this out of the way, because I knew it was a bullshit question in the first place.”

Ah boohoo, poor Dickie, taking the hard work of asking hard questions on himself, so what? So none of the others would get punched in the face by an angry omega?

“You asked, I answered, case closed.” Jason kept his voice cold and steady, but his stomach was dropping, pulling his heart with it. “Thanks for the dinner, but you can run back to dad now. I’m sure he’s waiting with baited breath on your mission report.”

So this was his life now, huh? This was what they thought of him after all, how they chose to interact with their black sheep –by sending out an emissary.

Until today Jason didn't even know he _was_ the black sheep. Thank God the misunderstanding had been cleared.

“Jay, wait!”

He didn’t. His break was over ten minutes ago and he needed to hurry back.

* * *

The rest of the day passed him in a haze of anger mixed with regret, both steadily burning out as the hours ticked by, until only ashes of them remained. He acted as if nothing happened, just a regular dinner with a brother you haven’t seen in a while. Thankfully, the team swallowed that lie, so at least he didn't have to deal with questions. He could nurse the slowly smouldering embers of sadness in peace.

On the way home Jason did some shopping; nothing much, just a loaf of bread and some cream cheese. Alongside the stew he made the other day it should carry him over till Saturday’s big weekly shop.

He climbed the stairs to his flat on the third floor, habitually ignoring the elevator, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door finally closed behind him.

It wasn’t much, the flat. A one bedroom affair with an open plan living room and a small bathroom, localised in a townhouse old enough, in a part of Gainsly remote enough, to escape the gentrification so far, but not yet derelict enough to invite the gangs. The block was mostly populated by the working class men and women who had no time for anyone starting shit, leaving no foothold for the drug runners and johns to set out shop. As long as he could afford the rent, Jason was going to stay there.

He made his way to the kitchen, to sort out the shopping and put the coffee machine on. Mrs Mabel’s bowl was empty, so he refilled it dutifully with dry food and washed out her water dish. Predictably, it was enough for the cat to appear on the nearest counter, pushing her head against Jason’s arm and neck, rumbling like a tiny, rusted engine.

“Ma’am, we have talked about this.” He said as he gently set the cat on the floor before she got the bad idea to jump down. “You’re too old to be jumping on the counters.”

As usual, her only response was a rumbling purr and a nip to the fingers that briefly scratched her cheek, before she dived for the food.

“You’re sixty nine, for Christ’s sake, stay on the floor. Old ladies don't climb ladders!”

Mrs Mabel looked up briefly from her bowl and slowly blinked her one reminding eye, and Jason felt told off.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “I will take a shower now and ignore your pathetic mewling when you get stuck on the fridge. _Again_.”

And so he did. The bathroom was too small for a bathtub, but Jason preferred showers, liking the feeling of hot water massaging his shoulders and beating down his back. He rinsed off the grime of the day, rubbed his scalp hard enough to feel every raised scar hidden underneath the hair, not exactly avoiding looking down, but determinately staring at the off-white tile in front of him.

The embers of frustration were trying to raise, but Jason made sure there was nothing for them to catch on. He steered purposefully away from that disastrous lunch, from the way it made him feel paradoxically more lonely than he was before meeting a pack-member for the first time in months. It was an old trick of his brain: circling around one issue, building up a firestorm that overtook his logical thinking and kept him on edge, denying him rest. He wised up to it a while ago and didn’t budge.

Out of the shower, he put on a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt, and leaned on the sink to floss his teeth –the three prosthetic ones were of the highest grade, so he had to take care of the neighbouring ones, so there were no obvious differences. It was a bit of a ritual these last few years, easy to get used to, kinda calming.

However, the ritual brought him in front of the mirror and it was really hard to stop thinking about the yellow car when you did your best to stop thinking about it. Jason’s gaze slid down the reflection of his face to stop at the side of the neck –on the smooth, pristine skin covering his scent gland, unmarked, save for the redness caused by a thorough scrubbing.

He touched it, the place where the mating mark should _–would_ one day go.

For Dick to ask him to bare _that_ place for nothing felt almost humiliating. The perfect older brother, an exemplary alpha, wanted by everyone, he probably couldn't wrap his head around someone not jumping to do whatever he asked them for. Jason was angry at himself for that one spark of hope that rose into the air when the demand was made. He was angry at himself for the spark of disappointment that killed it.

He was over it, should be over it a long time ago. He didn't want to carry this torch anymore, he had left that dream when he left that life behind and that’s where it should stay. Why would Dick even want to see him outside of the family occasions they were both expected to attend? He was never eager for Jason's company before the ‘accident’, and afterwards their interactions were filled with guilt and pity, and Jason couldn't stand it.

So, he left, and that’s how it should stay. Maybe he should find a way to get out of the pack-meetings altogether? The pack was getting uncomfortably large these days and Bruce’s new brat didn't make his dislike a secret; they were all so awkward around him… maybe he should make it easier on all of them and just stop attending?

With that thought in mind, Jason exited the bathroom –only to freeze in place at the sight of _Dick fucking Grayson_ sitting on his sofa with Mrs Mabel in his lap.

“I didn't know you had a cat,” the alpha said with a smile. “She’s cute.”

Jason should probably ask _what the hell did the asshole think he was doing there_? He should be demanding him to leave. The irrational part of his mind wanted to tear the cat away from him and hide her in the bedroom –to have at least one of his things remain _his_.

“You didn't lock the door.” Dick read the stunned silence correctly. “So it isn’t much of a breaking and entering. Sorry for the entering, but I just couldn't leave things as they were.”

That finally allowed Jason to regain his voice. “So you decided to piss me off some more?”

The ass even took off his jacket and shoes, as if he expected to stay. Jason wished he had more clothes on.

“Listen.” Dick carefully shifted the cat off his lap and stood, putting on his serious face. “I’m sorry for how it went. It was insensitive and I apologise for it. I’m not here to ‘check on you’, I really _did_ want to see how you’re doing.”

“Why won't you ask Bruce?” Jason brushed off the apology, not interested in being manipulated. “He apparently knows everything, apart from the stuff he doesn't.”

He needed coffee for this, so he crossed to the kitchen, pointedly not offering a beverage to his ‘guest’.

“Jay, this isn’t about Bruce,” Dick followed and with him his scent. Jason had a petty urge to open a window, but the heating was already struggling, so he didn't.

“You haven’t been paying attention, then, in this pack _everything_ is about Bruce and his need to control every little fucking…”

 _"He's worried about you!"_ It was an alpha growl.

An honest to god _alpha growl_ that went up Jason’s spine like a stroke of lightning and almost made him drop the mug he was about to put into the express. Dick didn't let him regain his equilibrium, he pushed forward, trapping Jason in the corner between the counter and the fridge, in a reflection of what Jason did to him in the alley. "Can you stop and consider that he's worried and afraid for you, and you won't pick the goddamn phone when it's him? That's why he didn't come himself, because he was afraid you wouldn't want to see him!"

"That's bullshit!" It took more than one try to get the words out, because Jason’s mouth was dry in an instinctive reaction to vocalised alpha displeasure. He leaned back to get some space, but Dick closed the distance to put his hands on the counter on both sides of the omega, effectively bracketing him in.

"That's the honest truth!” Dick said, gaze unmoving, staring Jason down. “I know what kind of an overbearing asshole he can be, believe me. But when it comes to you he's scared to death of doing or saying the wrong thing, of pushing you even further away."

“That’s…”

"Jay, you were his _baby_ , he _loves_ you. But he's notoriously bad at communicating that once we grow up, because he’s emotionally stunted. It may seem like Tim or Damian are the next new shiny toys, I know it does, but they are simply easier for him to talk to." Dick stopped and raked a hand through his hair again, giving the omega a bit of a space to breathe. "Pups are easy, you just have to be there for them and keep them safe. He couldn't keep you safe and he never forgave himself for it… and he thinks you'd never forgiven him either."

This was such bullshit, because what the hell was he talking about? Jason only ever blamed one person for what happened five years ago, only one man –the man who captured and beat and almost killed him. Joker was the only one to blame; it took a long time to understand it, to stop shifting the blame onto people that didn't deserve it. It was Joker’s decision to torture a child and Jason’s therapist worked long and hard to help him accept it.

“I didn’t… it’s not that. It was never that.” He swallowed. “I never blamed him for what happened.”

He honestly, genuinely didn’t. He blamed Sheila, and he blamed himself, and the demon that did it to him –but Bruce was the one who got to him in time, who saved his life!

“But you did blame him for _something_.”

“Wouldn’t you?! He never let me come back! Kept me away from it all, as if I wasn’t… as if it wasn’t mine, too.” Damn, it was hard to speak, with the alpha so close and looking at him, pulling the words out of Jason with the force of his presence alone.

“He was afraid, little wing. We all were”

“So was I!” Another swallow. “I was scared too, and none of you allowed me to deal with it and.. get over anything! As if I was suddenly… I thought it was just Robin, that he just didn’t want kids out there with him. But it wasn't, was it? He took on the first brat that knocked on the door!” He felt his throat swelling, the words becoming harder to push out. “It wasn’t Robin, it was just _me_.”

“Oh, Jay.”

The embrace was warm and tight, and the cold nose nuzzling into his temple made him feel paradoxically warmer still. Jason didn’t resist, it’s been a while since he last had this. Dick had to realize it too, because he tightened his arms even more and crooned softly in that pleasant alpha register meant to calm, such a contrast to the growling from before.

“I won’t speak for Bruce anymore,” he promised, “you have to hear it all from him, not from me. But he didn't tell me to come here, it wasn’t a mission or anything you’re making it up to be in your head. Alfred was going to call, but I… I wanted it to be me.”

Startled by the confession, Jason moved back, but only as far as Dick’s hands on his shoulders and the counter behind allowed. “Why?” He was officially confused now.

“I wanted to make sure, okay? I wanted…” One hand shifted to rest on the side of his neck, a wide and warm weight that cleared his head in a blink when it pressed over his scent gland. Dick’s eyes were earnest and blue, and Jason found himself drowning in them. “You’re grown up now, and you are so good looking and working so hard. Alphas can see this, see _you_.” The other hand brushed Jason’s fringe up his forehead. He wanted to pull away, always self conscious of the scar splitting his temple into a ragged spider web of discoloured skin, but Dick once more didn’t let him. He nuzzled the scar and breathed against it, and Jason’s heart almost stopped when a soft kiss brushed over it. “And I don't want any other alpha to see you, okay?”

“Why… why now? After all that… why _now_?”

I had a crush on you ever since I met you, he wanted to say. I loved you even when you didn't want to have anything to do with me! Even when all you wanted was to be an aloof older brother. Why now, when Jason had laid that dream to rest alongside all the others?!

“Because you were a kid. And then you were hurt.” Dick’s voice was unwavering, but not unfeeling. “You didn't have this.” A gesture encapsulated the home around them, the life Jason built for himself without anyone’s help, something to fall back on that wasn’t pack-related. “It wouldn't be fair to trap you in a role everyone expected of us just because you were our only omega and I was the alpha heir.” Jason wanted to say that it wouldn't matter, he would be happy, but then Dick leaned in until their brows met and it was so hopelessly romantic he couldn't get a word out. “Above all else? I didn't have much at the time.” He could feel the alpha’s eyebrow raising in self-deprecation. “A rookie cop with a garbage Honda and a studio flat with a leaking ceiling, nothing of worth to offer. Certainly nothing to start a courtship with.”

That word slammed home like a fist, nearly bowing Jason under its weight.

“What are you saying?” He stammered, looking for deception, for anything to tell him This wasn’t happening, because this was just a Thursday evening and things like that didn't happen to Jason Todd!

Except... maybe they did. There had already been one autumn evening that changed his life irrevocably, so why not another?

“I’m saying that I wasn’t lying before. I want to have a nice meal with you, and then I want to go somewhere private to talk things out. You don’t have to decide now,” Dick hurried to add with another little peck to Jason’s temple. “But I’d really like that.”

As it happened, Jason would really like that too.


	3. Good and gracious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The nanny!Jay AU's thrilling conclusionXD
> 
> The setup you can be found on my tumblr (whumpbby too;]) under a nanny!Jay tag - basically, through weird happenstances Jason became a nanny for Bruce Wayne's boys - Dick, Tim and Damian. One thing led to another and her ewe are;D

That wasn’t why Bruce entered Jason's room –as proven by the tray in his hands, and a bowl of hot soup and a glass of juice resting on said tray. He was just a delivery boy for Alfred in this situation, meant to bring the lunch to the ailing omega and return swiftly downstairs where a stack of paperwork awaited in his office.

However, that plan went out the window the moment his eyes fell on the scene in front of him –a flushed omega resting in a half-made nest with a sleeping pup curled up to his chest.

Bruce’s pup.

Bruce’s pup that was suckling at the nipple trapped in his mouth, white spilling over his chin after a clumsy pull.

That’s where Bruce’s brain screeched to a halt, because that _wasn’t right_.

No matter that every single one of his instincts insisted that this was so, _so right._ The most _right_ thing that happened in this house in years.

Omega. Nest. Pup. Milk. Its sweet scent permeating the air around them.

The only thing that didn't quite fit was the expression of shock and almost-terror on the omega’s face, confusion in the wide eyes that were darting between the pup and the alpha standing in his bedroom, begging for explanation.

That was unacceptable. That wouldn't do at all.

The tray landed on a nearby dresser with a clang. Bruce paid little attention to spilled soup, busy with removing his suit jacket. He folded it carelessly across the nearest chair and undid the cuff links to easier push the sleeves up his forearms.

He wasn’t quite sure why and what he was trying to accomplish, but there was an urge to _act_ that was pushing him forward and he decided not to fight it. He was going to _help_ and that was all that counted.

Jason, of course, was looking at him with growing confusion (Bruce was also confused, so he didn't mind all that much) and alarm, especially when the alpha kicked his shoes off and away.

“Mister Way…!” The omega started to speak, leaning on an elbow to raise from the bed, but choked on air when the pup nipped his breast in reaction to the sudden shift.

“Bruce.” Bruce corrected calmly, (his throat tingled from the low register his voice dropped into) because Jason knew his name; they were quite beyond having a strictly professional relationship at this point with his pup _nursing_ off the omega.

“Shh, calm down,” he muttered, lowering his voice even more for the benefit of the sleeping pup and the slight shiver that ran through Jason in reaction. “It’s probably happening due to the pause in medication,” he explained. “Do you feel unwell? Feverish?”

Jason’s eyes were glazed over, his pupils blown wide, but his face wasn't clammy and he didn't look like he was cold.

“No,” the omega confirmed the assumption. God, his voice was throaty and so gentle Bruce wanted to… _something_. “I feel okay. A bit achy? No temperature… I think?“

“Let me check.”

He put a hand on the boy’s forehead and his inner alpha purred in satisfaction when the omega allowed it, even raised his head to make it easier. So obedient. So soft.

The skin felt warm, but not alarmingly so, so Bruce shook his head with a slight smile and his fingers, seemingly out of their own volition, brushed through the young man’s fringe, teasing out the small tangles. He didn't notice before, but Jason’s hair was a bit curly close to the skin; it was adorable.

Even more adorable was the sound that came out of the omega when he finally took his hand away –a murmur of protest instantly followed up by an endearing blush of embarrassment.

“Give me a moment, I will make it better,” he promised.

Survey finished, Bruce got to work.

The first order of business was to finish the nest Jason started to construct on the bed. It wasn’t a bad attempt, just a bit disorganised. A bit small. Probably more than enough for a single omega in a normal situation… but Jason wasn’t a single omega anymore, was he? And the situation wasn't quite as normal.

Now, Bruce wasn’t a presumptuous man, so he didn't rush to scour his own wardrobe for building material –it would be the type of aggressive alpha behaviour that never had a place in the Manor ruled by a Pennyworth. This particular nest’s function was to settle the omega down and for that his own clothes and blankets were the best. It didn't have to be extravagant –the impression Bruce got from Jason so far was that he much preferred simplicity. It made sense, he was raised in a working class environment, a big opulent nest would most likely only confuse him at this stage.

Maybe in the future that could be changed, but now they had no time for experiments.

A couple of soft summer duvets Alfred provided throughout the week did their job just fine, followed by a small olive blanket that laid crumbled on the floor on the side of the bed. Damian had to bring it with him when he came to Jason’s room.

Bruce lifted his find to show it to the omega. “Where?” He asked.

Jason took the blanket with the hand not currently busy holding Damian and expertly laid it down across the spare pillow above the pup’s head. He looked bewildered before and after doing it, as if he wasn’t quite sure what his brain was telling him and Bruce understood him completely. When he had his first rut, his mind and body deemed to disconnect and he was stuck for four days feeling compelled to do things he couldn’t logically explain or justify. Things felt _right_ , but he had no idea _why_.

“Just let it happen,” he advised when the glistening hazel eyes looked to him for explanation. “I know it’s… weird. But it will get better.”

Then he brazenly entered the nest, crawling towards its occupants, careful not to dislodge anything. Jason’s brows narrowed in confused offence, but Bruce was an alpha –he was the alpha of the pack, of the Manor, he was the father of the pup present, and they both knew he had every right to do it. Jason’s omega instincts recognised that fact and settled the rest of him down, allowing the alpha access without protest.

“Now, come up,” he instructed, carefully slipping his hands underneath the sleeping omega and the pup. “Lay on your back and pull that pillow underneath Damian, it will be more comfortable.”

It didn't even cross his mind that the omega could want to remove the pup from his breast entirely. It seemed so natural to expect him to continue, the only issue being the uncomfortable position Bruce had to fix.

Thankfully, it didn't seem to cross Jason’s mind either, because he compiled without a fuss and changed his position as advised. He moved to lay on his back with a pup laying next to his side, small mouth still attached to the nipple and a tiny hand sleepily kneading the breast next to it.

Bruce was mesmerised by the image before his eyes, even more so that Damian didn't even twitch throughout it all, content to doze next to the warm body. It was almost hypnotising to watch his mouth move instinctively, the steady pull and release as natural as breathing.

Jason, likewise, was staring at the happenings on his chest in puzzlement, as if he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it all.

“Can I have some water?” He asked after a while, not raising his gaze one inch. “I…”

“Of course.”

Bruce retrieved the glass of orange juice from the tray and returned to the nest. It seemed only logical to slip his arm underneath Jason’s back and lift him up a bit, allowing him to drink from the glass Bruce held to his lips. It was only natural that the alpha was helping, right? Some things were instinctual.

After the glass was emptied, he put it away on the side table and returned to his position of supporting the omega with his shoulder.

He still couldn't wrap his head around the situation entirely.

Milk.

Jason was making _milk_. For Bruce’s pups.

It was almost unreal –it wasn’t something that happened every day, was it? Male omegas in Bruce’s circles weren’t either able or willing to produce milk; it was seen as unpleasant and bothersome, and bonding through milk was considered vulgar. Social conditioning, selective pairing and widespread use of suppressants resulted in a society where ‘dry’ omegas were the norm.

For Jason to suddenly let down like that was unexpected, but also amazing. It was probably the reason behind the way his heats hit so hard, behind his body’s disagreeing with the medication. Atavistic features like that weren’t taken into account in the clinical trials… They had to change it, he was going to make sure about it!

It was overwhelming and yet Bruce’s thought process has never been clearer, his focus never so laser-precise. His pack had an omega now and he needed to take care of him, to settle him down in the new role his body decided to take.

Without a word, he slipped his fingers underneath the hem of Jason’s sleeping-shirt and slowly pulled it up, eyes glued to the sight of fabric travelling over a hardened nipple, ears focused on the startled whine that escaped the omega’s throat.

“Bruce…!” Jason breathed. “What…”

“It’s swollen,” he said, as if it explained the gesture.

In his head it did –Damian pushed the shirt up enough to latch on, but the effect was that the rest of it bunched and tightened, pressing onto the other breast. It had to be uncomfortable.

“Now.” Uncovered, the soft mound sloped minimally to the side and Bruce’s mouth filled with saliva. “Isn’t that better?”

Jason made a humming sound, not an agreement, but not a protest either. He raised one hand and touched his breast, as if he still had a problem believing it was actually happening. His fingers poked at the underside and pressed on the nipple –and moved back with a sharp hiss when the pressure proved to be too much.

“It hurts,” he whispered, closing his eyes to disguise the glassiness of them. “It’s weird. I’ve never...”

Bruce shushed him with a tender croon, once more brushing his fringe up. “It’s okay, it’s not weird at all.”

“Yeah?”

The trust in the eyes looking up at him was melting Bruce's heart.

“Yeah, Jay. It only shows how special you are. How good you are to my pups.”

The eyes teared up and closed, Jason turned his head away to hide his expression –doubtlessly overwhelmed. He didn't have a happy life, that was pretty obvious, wasn’t used to compliments or open appreciation. It was heartbreaking and Bruce promised himself to fix it.

“You are hard-working and smart, and so, so brave,” he whispered over the omega’s bowed head, moving his arm from a support into a half-embrace. “I couldn't ask for a better omega to take care of my boys, they think the world of you.”

“Please…”

“And so do I.”

The recent almost-heat made the young man sensitive and Bruce’s words only added to the emotional strain. The scent of salt joined the note of milk in the air and the omega shook in his embrace, tiny, pitched sounds escaping him as he fought to regain his composure. Bruce didn't want to let him, Jay has kept it in for too long now, he deserved a chance to release the pent-up stress, to feel safe enough to cry.

He bowed his head lower until he could nuzzle softly behind the omega’s ear; gentle and soothing, a familial gesture more than anything untoward that someone else might have expected of him. Jason’s reaction was a whine and a shiver, tamed down to keep the pup at his breast undisturbed.

God, he was so perfect, Bruce wanted…

“Dad? Jay?” A tiny voice interrupted his thought-process and he never discovered what he was about to do. Maybe it was for the better.

Jason stiffened at the sound, a wild look jumping to Bruce and trying to see over him to the door, but the alpha only pressed his rising shoulder down with a calming croon. “I got it.”

Dick was peeking into the room through a crack in the door, face creased in worry and confusion, but Bruce could see his nose twitching at the mix of new scents in the air. After a moment Tim pushed his head next to his brother’s with a look that was almost panicked.

“Dad?” The pup whined, wringing his hands. “Dami’s not on nap.”

“No, he’s here,” Bruce answered, keeping his voice gentle. “You can come in, boys.”

“But...!” Jason started and stopped, tried to shift over when the sounds of tiny feet neared the bed, tried to hide his chest, but it was not possible with a pup still attached to him.

“It’s alright,” Bruce rumbled into his ear. “Let them see, it’s for them after all, right?”

Maybe it was sudden, but he knew what he was doing. Jason was stressed and nothing calmed an omega down like a pup needing their care. He needed to be shown that what his body was doing was good and right.

“Dad!” Dick exclaimed softly, pushing Tim onto the bed and climbing right after. “That scent!”

“Smells nice,” added Timmy, twitching his nose. “What is it?”

His little bug, always trying to speak so clearly.

The sight that awaited on the other side of his dad made the small face light up in excitement. “Oh! Can I, too?” He scrambled over Bruce, but stopped cold before touching Jason. “Can I?”

Bruce saw the battle taking place on the omega’s face, instincts and apprehension fighting with each other, before one finally kicked the other off.

Tim squeaked like a kitten when Jason raised an arm to let him closer and just like a kitten nuzzled into the warm chest, nosing at the nipple and breathing in the scent surrounding it. He needed a bit of encouragement to latch on –a gentle press on the back of his neck and an inviting coo from the omega.

“Wow,” Dick whispered, draping his upper half across Bruce’s chest. His eyes were bright with excitement and he was gripping his dad’s shirt as it to keep himself from lounging and waking up the youngest pup. “This is amazing, B!”

“It is,” Bruce agreed, bringing the pup closer with an arm around his back and threading his fingers through his tangled curls. “You will have your turn too, champ, after Jay rests for a bit.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dick shook his head and nuzzled in under the alpha’s chin. “I’m fine, let the babies drink.” His brave little pup, always putting others first.

“Dick…”

“You’ll get your turn, Dickie.” Jason’s tone was determined, even though his eyes were glassy and his breathing shallow. “After Damian is done.”

He looked bright and flushed, and proud, and Bruce decided then and there that he will never let him go if he can help it.


	4. Catch and release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is a bit of a different interpretation of 'pampering' being that in this scenario the pampering Jay needs is TO GET PLOWED XD 
> 
> No explicit sex, but a pretty explicit recollection of it? Also, mating chase and dash of voyeurism;]

The issue itself was pretty simple – Jason needed to get laid.

He was an omega, so of course he needed to have some good, enjoyable sex every once in a while, from a strong alpha with a girthy knot that would fill him in all the places that need it and satisfy his heat. That biological imperative was hard to shake off even for the most stubborn of omegas.

Nature's idea was simple – omega goes into a heat, finds an appropriate alpha who is sent into a rut, and then the Chase begins. The alpha’s part is to run the omega down, wrestle them to the ground and finish in style with a bite on the back of their neck. Omega’s job is to make it as hard as possible, forcing the alpha to work for it, and then go down in a show of glorious surrender, relaxed and wet, and ready to mate. Simple, efficient, tested and true.

Except, when you were Jason Todd, the scariest omega of the Northern hemisphere, over six feet tall and built like an anti-craft missile launcher. Trained by the Batman, by the League of Shadows, by the numerous murder-experts around the world and a village of immortals. An omega so skilled in punching people in the face that very few could get a drop on him even outside of the heat-induced fighting frenzy.

Inside of the heat-induced fighting frenzy? The few daring alphas that tried were lucky to get away with their lives and knots intact. Jason was an undisputed heavyweight champion of Gotham when it came to mating Chases.

Which was not ideal, because every four months, on the clock, Gotham’s underground froze like a fox in a snare. The streets at night emptied, drug trade moved so deep that even Batman had problems digging it up. The stragglers and muggers took a break, some skipped town altogether. Bowery became a ghost town as far as crime was concerned.

The Bats stayed at home, because there was no point in patrolling the streets when another protector prowled them in their stead. Getting in the way of an incensed omega was always risky, and normal omegas didn’t even throw manhole covers at people for things as small as littering or walking too fast.

Usually, an omega in heat stayed close to their nest, but Jason apparently considered Gotham's seedy underbelly to be his nest and even Bruce Wayne knew to stay away from it for some weeks. When you thought about it, it was kind of sad and a bit tragic, for both Jason and for Gotham.

Dick, however, found it hilarious (sad, but hilarious) because it was like throwing a bear into a dog cage and watching the big boys that thought they were dangerous hiding in fear of a predator that was downright incomprehensible. That this was Jason – the tiny, bratty, baby Jason who used to read all these courtly romances and crush on every handsome alpha, and probably dreamed of his own romantic Chase… That the scrappy boy Dick used to know grew into this magnificent monster of an omega that could crush watermelons between his thighs… That was some superb work from Mother Nature right there.

He wished, however, that Mother Nature didn't forget to provide the omega with a matching alpha able to overpower him for even a moment. Without that, without the bite and the struggle, there was no sex. And without sex there was an unsatisfied heat and frustration building up until a safe release could be arranged.

No wonder his younger brother was so angry all the time, snapping at everyone coming close, no wonder he was so violent and trigger-happy. Years of frustration could do that to a person.

And it wasn't like they didn't try to help Jay alleviate the issue, not like he was unwilling to let them help when he was in his right mind. It’s just that, once the heat had set in all stops were released, Jason’s skills came to the fore with no reason to hold back – and it became clear how much he _was_ holding back on them.

It was a bitter pill to swallow for both Dick and Bruce, to realise that Jason didn’t kill them yet simply because he didn’t seem to want to. When stripped of all inhibitions, he came awfully close too many times for comfort, forcing them to stop and look for another solution. He could be brought down, of course, they had numbers and technology on their side, but not in one on one Chase and not safely enough for an intercourse to occur - not safely enough to have his body react accordingly. They could tranq him, sure, but that would be a violation no one wanted to even consider; the omega needed to be given a chance and a reason to submit, otherwise what was the point?

Dick, personally, wouldn't mind mounting someone so fierce and strong - Jason's heat-scent alone was enough to advertise his readiness to anyone with a nose in their head - and he knew that Jason was receptive to that idea too, when he was in his right mind. They performed that song and dance for long enough to know that, if given a chance, they’d make a good couple - even if not in a marriage, they still fit together nicely in a partnership.

Except there was reason and there were instincts, and Jason’s instincts told him to fight, so he fought with all he was worth.

He needed sex, but he was too much for a normal alpha to handle.

And thus they were at an impasse.

* * *

Luckily – or not, that was still up in the air, – one April night Dick came across the last person he’d expect to meet in Gotham.

He dropped onto the roof of the First Bank to gather his bearings and scent the wind, trying to avoid the omega raising hell in the warehouse district to the East. As long as he stayed high, he should be okay to follow a lead and get out before Jason caught his scent.

Then he almost got a heart attack when the shadows behind him shifted and a figure emerged, one that Dick knew well.

"The city is quiet tonight." Midnighter glanced at him over the hand he used as a shield to light a cigarette. Smoke billowed momentarily around the masked face before it was carried away by the wind. "Suspiciously quiet."

They stood motionless for a long minute, measuring one another in silence. It didn't look like the man was there to pick a fight, at least Dick hoped he wasn’t, Gotham was under enough pressure already and he was on the clock. Bruce was very possibly going to go ballistic on another vigilante in his city just because he was a stressed alpha father and it was something to do.

“So, what is it, kid? You’d almost think that Gotham's a respectable place.”

Dark eyes stayed on him, unmoving, so Dick couldn’t even twitch, because the brain behind these eyes was already churning, making connections and figuring things out. There were only two other people Dick had seen chewing through information this quick – Bruce and Tim, and still neither of them had a computer inside of their heads. Neither of them was as dangerous as a handsome omega with a tendency to flirt with Dick and somehow always have the upper hand.

However, the longer they stood there posturing the more dangerous it was, they didn't have much time to chat, the window of opportunity was closing fast the longer Jason was out there, scenting…

“Alright, what is it, kid? What got you so twitchy?” Midnighter's voice took on a concerned note. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Dick lied like a liar he was.

The dark eyes narrowed at him. Shit.

A doorway appeared out of nowhere, like it always did, just an outline barely visible against the backdrop of the overcast night sky. Oh man, Oracle’s sensors were going to blow up.

“Wanna lie to me over a beer, birdie?”

The night was long already and the sirens started to blare two streets from the bank, and Dick felt the hair on the back of his neck rising and his shoulders tensing with nerves... “Yeah, why not? Your treat?”

“You’re a cheap alpha, kid.”

“And you're a strong independent omega who needs no man, you can foot one bill.”

* * *

They ended up in a small pub in the good side of the city, closer to the mainland, a place Jason didn't frequent often. Dick never visited that particular establishment, but he knew the area and even had a safehouse close by; the place itself was clean and looked well worn, and the offer on tap was very promising. As was the fact that no one even batted an eye at the two vigilantes taking up the booth in the far corner of the room.

“Sounds to me like your family has a problem.”

So, yeah, Dick spilled the beans. Not like it was some sort of a secret, Red Hood’s dramatic heats were a widespread knowledge in Gotham, it was safer to inform the newcomer of the danger he was in than to leave him alone to be mauled or worse. Dick wasn’t even sure how Jay would react to another strong contender on his turf - omegas were rarely territorial enough to get violent with each other, but God knew what was happening in that messed up head right now?

Even though something at the bottom of his stomach twitched at the thought of two hard-boiled omegas tousling and growling, the bloodshed that would commence wasn’t worth it.

That’s how Dick explained it to himself and he was sticking to it if anyone asked!

Midnighter took in the information, his gaze considering, before he nodded sharply and threw back the reminder of his scotch.

“This is your lucky night, I have just an alpha to fix your issue.”

The vigilante reached underneath his coat for a phone and Dick almost spat out his imported non-alcoholic beer.

“No, wait. I don't need help to set up my brother with a stranger!” They’d tried that once, didn’t turn out so good.

“Oh kid, you haven't seen what I’m offering.”

“I don't have to, Jason will tear him apart.”

“Good luck to him, I’m still putting money on my boy.”

This meeting was getting kinda strange, even if the beer was very good. How did they get there?

Midnighter shoved the phone into Dick’s face and any further protests died on his lips.

Alright, this was… this was good. This was promising.

The man looking at him from the photo had the pearliest smile Dick has ever seen, the brightest blonde hair outside of a bottle and a wide tanned face with cute dimples. And a bicep almost as thick as Dick’s waist.

“Okay, I’m listening. What's the catch?" There was always a catch.

"There's no catch." The bastard looked smug as he said it, too. There _so_ was a catch. “Listen kid, take it from a high maintenance omega, your boy needs a good plowing and fast, because this?” Midnighter’s lips tightened in worry. ”This is just cruel to him and I can’t let it go on like that.”

Which wasn’t –wasn’t a lie, was it? They all kind of got used to Jay’s heats being as they were, violent and erratic, but the man was right, there were no other omegas in the family and it was possible they might have… underestimated the severity of the situation. Coming from another omega, the words were damning.

Dick drained the rest of his beer and stared at the leftover foam gathered at the bottom of the glass, not really believing that he was doing this, but… well, he didn't want Jay to suffer anymore. "Is he trustworthy?”

Midnighter took the phone back. “I trust him with my life.”

That was actually a lot coming from this man.

“Why do I have a suspicion that I’ll regret this?”

“No idea, it has to run in your family. But if I call my alpha he will be here in about 4 minutes and tonight will end up happily for your little brother.”

“Will he agree to help, though?”

“Kid, he’ll _love_ to help. Your murderous boy is exactly someone his protective instincts will fixate on, now that his pup has left the nest.”

Oh, that also sounded promising. The alpha in question having a pup of his own calmed Dick down some - it meant that the chance of bonding was small.

* * *

True to his word, once they’ve vacated the pub Midnighter made the call and less than five minutes later the wind picked up and the blond alpha from the photo landed before them, light as a feather.

He was getting into _so much_ shit with Bruce.

But goddamn, up close he looked even better than on the screen, all ruffled hair and a tight t-shirt hugging him like a lover, and a smile that lit up the dark alley they were standing in. It was like the man radiated his own sunlight.

It was like standing next to Clark after a really good harvest.

“He’s a meta?” Dick mumbled out, stupidly.

“Andrew.” The alpha sidestepped the question with grace and Dick found himself shaking his hand, big and warm, and solid. God, his smile was infectious. “This dark one here told me about you and your family, it's nice to finally make the acquaintance.”

God, he was lovely. Perfect. Dick was torn between being jealous and wanting to put his face between these perfect pectorals.

This plan had a chance of working.

* * *

Except, once they decided on a plan of action and Andrew left the rooftop to hunt for the wayward omega, Dick got cold feet almost instantly.

It wasn’t just because they were stuck in a sort of an elevator-between-dimensions kinda situation that reminded him of the ship Bizarro had built once for his pack. And it wasn’t just because they had a screen with a visual that seemed to follow the lovely meta step by step (Dick wasn’t even going to ask what sort of futuristic inter-dimensional tech that was, he’d have to report it to Bruce and that was a headache he didn't need), giving them a pretty good insight on how well-fitted his jeans were.

Yeah, he was lying, it was both of these and also the knowledge of how far gone Jason actually was once Andy finally found him in a poorly lit parking lot near the Underbridge Train Station.

And Jay was truly _gone_ –the visual was a bit grainy due to bad light and the distance from the omega made it hard to see the details of his expression clearly, but judging by his posture alone, Jason was on edge and ready to fight anyone and anything.

That was the issue in a pill –the mating Chase couldn’t happen if the omega wasn’t going to run.

“Jason won't run,” Dick whispered, biting his thumb, watching the silent stare-down stretch and stretch, both contestants unflinching. ”It’s his territory, he won't budge. He’s used to standing his ground.”

Standing his ground and breaking the face of whoever wanted to move him.

Lucas didn't seem concerned, if the smirk notching the corner of his lip up was any indication. “Oh, we’ll see. I know a bit about stubborn omegas that don't know what’s good for them.”

He would, wouldn't he?

Dick was about to retort when the screen drew his attention back. The alpha moved, finally, making a step to the side, where a row of cars was parked for the night –unhurried, but not wary. His posture was surprisingly relaxed. Jason tensed, Dick could see him sniffing the air, preparing to leap, to attack...

And then Andrew raised a closest car over his head, held it like that for about a minute, before gently putting it back in its place.

Jason was frozen for that full minute –and Dick was frozen alongside him, because what the hell?!

Then, to Dick’s absolute astonishment, Jason turned tail and started to run.

The alpha smiled a dazzling smile straight into the screen and, on the count of ten, gave chase.

* * *

It was a long Chase, one of the longest Dick has ever seen, and he had a suspicion that it wasn't due to Jason's long legs or his stubbornness, because it became pretty obvious pretty fast that the alpha’s blinding smile wasn’t the only Clark-like thing about him.

No, the alpha simply wasn't in a hurry to catch the omega. He was close numerous times, every time Jason slowed down he was there, a step behind; every time the omega stopped to catch his breath, the alpha was there to spook him again.

He was running Jason down, Dick realised, not allowing him to rest, trying to exhaust him. And it was working. But damn, now that Dick could see what it took to tire Jason out he had new appreciation for the training his brother went through under the League's dubious care. For a moment it seemed like he won't tire at all, that he was more than human in that regard (something they were all secretly afraid of, including Jason), but slowly, slowly that changed.

Jason's breath turned as heavy as his steps, noticeably uneven. On the top of the National Bank he discarded his jacket and three corners later his holsters, anything that could weigh him down was carelessly left behind.

Andrew calmly picked them up and threw them over his shoulder without slowing down. He looked like he was having fun, with the smile curling his lips and a joyous spark in his eyes. His gaze was full of intent, though, the Chase had an effect on him and he wasn’t considering losing.

It all came to an end in the Narrows, three doors down from Jason's most secure safe house. The fact that he led the Chase that way meant he was at the end of his rope, either eager to arm himself or bunker down. Goddamn, Dick was impressed. It took a lot for Jason to admit defeat.

The alpha touched ground a step behind him, light as a feather, and between one blink and the next, tackled the omega like a professional wrestler. They went down like a car crash, with the same level of force and noise involved.

Jason snarled and screeched, clawing at the arms holding him around the neck and waist, struggling to twist around underneath the weight pinning him down, to reach his assailant's face, his eyes, to tear his throat out. Andrew held fast, grip solid, his growl echoed in the dinky alleyway like a rolling thunder. Teeth bared, he was steadily getting closer to the back of his captive's neck.

A shiver climbed up Dick’s spine the longer he watched the struggle, two partners so perfectly matched and so opposite to one another, the sheer power of will at display. It was almost like…

Was he getting off on it?

Oh fuck, he was, wasn't he? Goddamn it, this was not how Dick expected to discover a new fetish. At least he wasn't on his own; a quick glance to the side confirmed that his companion was just as entranced by the show. Maybe even a bit more, if the hungry gleam in his eyes was anything to judge by.

That made Dick feel a bit better about himself. Not much, but a bit.

"Watch that, kid," Midnighter said suddenly, the cigarette in his hand all but forgotten. "Watch and learn."

Dick’s eyes returned to the screen just in time to witness how the alpha decided to end the fight. Impressive jaws clamped down on the back of the omega’s neck and Jason went taut and motionless. He arched when the alpha reared back, tense as a bowstring, defiant eyes opened wide and staring at the sky in anger. His breathing was laboured, made harder when the bite tightened and pulled the skin around his throat, slowly closing his airway. The alpha started to growl in a low cadence meant to force submission

 _I got you,_ it said. _I caught you, it's over, give up. I'm worthy of you, give in._

Dick felt his insides crawling with ants at the dominant display, his own instincts rearing to answer the challenge –and knowing with surety he wouldn’t win this one in a million years.

For a moment he thought that Jason wouldn't give in, that even this wasn't enough to break him. That he was too damaged an example of an omega, too stubborn to surrender.

Dick was never more happy to be wrong.

He had to clamp down hard on his bottom lip when Jason finally surrendered, a part of him wanted to turn away from it. It was too intimate, too close.

A part of Dick would happily kill to keep watching the fiercest omega he knew finally go down –Jason’s muscles softening one by one, the tension in his shoulders disappearing until they buckled. His eyes closing and his mouth falling open, his wet inhalation when he was finally allowed to breathe…

It was magical and sacred, and Dick felt privileged to witness it.

And he could almost swallow down the bitterness that rose in the back of his throat that he wasn’t there, in the alpha’s place.

A rough hand that gripped his shoulder, startling him out of the growing spiral of disappointment. “Easy, kid, he’s in good hands.”

The screen went dark and Dick flinched. “Wait!”

“What?” Lucas’ raised eyebrow was just as expressive as Bruce’s. “A bit of a voyeur, ain't’ ya? Want to watch your baby brother getting railed by my husband?”

Wait, what?!

“You’re married?!” Dick squeaked embarrassingly.

“Yeah. Lucky me, right?”

That didn't make sense. “But you… you keep hitting on me!” He exclaimed.

Mignighter shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “A bit of flirtin’ never killed anyone. I’ve noticed that no matter your relationship status you always flirted back, so I accepted it’s just a thing we do.”

“Does your husband…” Know? Oh god, did he know? Was Dick about to be murdered by a Uncle Clark’s pretty gay counterpart?!

“Know? Sure. It gets him nice and riled up whenever I visit Gotham. The welcome back is always worth it.”

Oh god, what he was getting into? Was he some… sex-aid Lucas employed whenever his alpha didn't pay him enough attention?

That was certainly new.

“Come on, kid, chin up!” Midnighter swung an arm around him and a blink later they stepped out on the street in front of a familiar bar. “It will take Drew a while to tire out your boy, we may as well finish getting sloshed.”

“I’m not getting drunk, I have a patrol to finish.”

Lucas looked at him and his eyes were serious and sympathetic. “Your dream boy is currently riding a cock that isn’t yours and will continue to do so for a few hours at least. You want to cry about it alone in the shower, or with an excuse of alcohol and a manly shoulder to lean on?”

When he put it like that, there wasn’t much point in arguing, was there?

* * *

Jason woke up slowly, in stages. Some of them allowed him to recognise the rough time of the day by the shadows travelling across the wall, some gave him tenuous control over his body. These kinda sucked, because most of his body ached and pulsed in distracting ways.

But it wasn’t bad pain –not what he was used to, certainly. Not an ache of bruised flesh or broken bones, not a pull of a freshly-stitched wound. It was… he never felt like that before. And he felt rested, another first. Usually the mornings after his hearts were hellish –his mood was down, his parts were numb from his own rough handling, his bed a mess of dried slick and cum. He was usually spending them being pathetic under the shower, awaiting the inevitable call from Bruce detailing the damage he did while under the influence of hormones and instincts. An unsatisfied heat was a hell to go through.

But this time… this time he didn't feel _unsatisfied_. His bed smelled clean and his sheets were soft against his naked skin, and his parts were tingling gently when he shifted his legs. His pussy was dry, but he felt... Open. Both of his holes felt like they were enthusiastically used by someone with substantial girth and enough skill to work it well. Come to think of it, his hips were covered in aching spots and the back of his neck was sore.

He felt lazy and slow, a bit hazy.

He felt well-fucked.

Jason’s eyes flew open –and he stopped at the first point of business: at the chiselled face with cornflower-blue eyes and the pearliest smile East of Metropolis.

A face Jason recognised form the previous night.

An _alpha_.

Discordant threads of memory chased around his brain –the chase, the cold night, the anger at the alpha daring to hunt him that slowly turned into a thrill of being the prey. The way his knees hit the sidewalk. The bite. Lack of air. Submission he had fought with every part of his being until the switch was flipped and he didn't want to fight anymore… Being picked up, easy as if he weighed nothing, the thrill of that. Of an alpha crooning softly as he was undressed, of big hands tracing all over his body, of… of a blond head between his thighs, holding him still, steady as he howled and trashed through an orgasm after orgasm, too much and wanting more, wanting to get to the main event… the feeling of a knot filling him, stretching him until he cried from it. Until the wild, angry beast living inside of him has been sated, tamed, until he could breathe again. And then fingers pushing into his ass before the knot even had a chance to deflate, trapping his prostate between the rock and the hard place as he whined in protest, because too much, too fast, and…

And he blacked out, because the rest was dark.

“Good morning,” the alpha said and stroked a hand through his hair.

And all Jason could get out of his sore throat was an intelligible croak.

The alpha chuckled and lifted Jason’s head a bit, so that he could drink from the glass of juice pressed to his lips.

Jason felt disjointed, loose-limbed. Perfectly okay with someone else –someone he didn't even fucking knew the name of! –taking care of him right now. He’d heard of the post-heat haze, but honestly didn’t expect to ever experience it himself. From the tales it sounded vaguely terrifying to allow someone so much control over him, it sounded a bit demeaning too.

However, the real thing was neither of these things. It was calm, peaceful.

Inside of his head was quiet for the first time in forever and Jason couldn't imagine going back to normal after having a taste of it.

“There we go,” the alpha crooned, letting him rest on the pillow. “Much better, isn’t it? Such a sweet boy you are, such a good omega.”

A honest to god whine escaped Jason’s throat and he didn't have enough brain-power to feel embarrassed about it.

In reaction to the sound, the arms wound around his waist tightened and the warm body pressed closer, moulding itself to his back.

Wait. What?

“Shh,” the alpha cooed when Jason swung his head around to see over his shoulder. “Calm down, pup, don't wake him.”

Dick. It was Dick. Snoring softly into his shoulder, warm breath brushing the back of Jason’s neck, arms heavy and secure around his waist.

What was he doing there?

The alpha’s fingers pressed into the crook of Jason’s neck and he went down, once again boneless, brain powering down like a toy with batteries taken out. It was so fast and unexpected that his eyes teared up.

“Shh, pup, there we go. There we go,” the alpha’s gentle voice was pulling him under even faster. “Sleep it off and you will feel better.”

It sounded like an amazing idea so Jason decided to do just that. Having Dick there helped, he felt safer with an alpha he knew close by. He always felt safe with Dick around.

“Ready to go, babe?”

He could swear that he faintly heard another voice over his head.

“In a moment.”

“Kids are out, they’re gonna be fine.”

“I’d prefer if you didn't give Grayson alcohol poisoning.”

“It was a few beers, he’s just a lightweight. Got him into this bed, didn't it?”

“Oh yeah, hungover he will be such a great help to Jason in the morning.”

“You can stop hovering, you know? The kid will wake up and get all the care and pamperin’ he deserves from his young buck.”

“How romantic.”

“Well yeah, that’s me, bringin’ people together. Regular goddamn Cupid.”

“You…”

Jason didn’t hear the rest, not that he cared, he was in a warm nest surrounded by calming alpha scent and nothing else mattered for now.


	5. Swimmingly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, this is a bit of AU unusual take on the ABO and mer-creatures;] 
> 
> So, in this AU mermaids are pocket-sized and kept as pets by humans. I gave them a lot of betta fish characteristics, but that you need to know is that they are about palm sized and adorable, and people in this verse consider them as we consider octopuses - intelligent, but still not on our level. There's nothing explicit in here sex-wise, but there is some descriptions of past mistreatment, so beware and enjoy the weirdness;]   
> [I will attach some photos to the post on my tumblr to better present the shapes and colours I'm writing about so have a lookie there;]]

The wildling came to her battered and scared. He was caught in the wild and kept by some halfwit in conditions nowhere close to acceptable –the tank was too small for the mer to do anything more than circle in place, with irregular water changes and a filter that hasn't been cleaned in ages.

Talia called him Jason, after the Greek hero.

When she got him, he was a neurotic mess, his fins were torn and ragged, barely there at all. She suspected the damage was self-inflicted out of stress and lack of stimulation, he probably didn't have enough space to stretch properly either. Then dirty water got into the wounds and rot followed, eating the fins almost to the skin. She hasn’t seen a case so severe in a long time and it took a lot of work and time to save the little thing.

Her father deemed Jason a waste of resources many times, pointing out that more promising specimens required attention, but Talia stuck to her guns. The mer became something of a pet project she kept returning to even when all hope seemed lost.

He crashed twice, his immune system not knowing how to cope with the new environment, with the stress of changing water parameters, with antibiotics and food that was actually nutritious. Both times Talia did all she could to pull the mer out of the jaws of death and both times her determination had paid off.

And slowly, slowly, Jason recovered. He seemed to finally accept that he was in good care, his stress levels dropped and he started to heal.

It was a fascinating process to witness, even more so since Talia didn't know what to expect –Jason didn't have any documentation, there was no photographic evidence as to how he looked freshly caught, not even a mention of his general body shape. When he was shipped to her family’s farm he was pale and wasted, it was hard to even tell his original colour.

His upper half was strong and the middle part of his tail was wide even under severe malnutrition. Once she fed him up, he became quite active; he was a fast, rapid swimmer, darting from place to place in a blink of an eye. It gave her an idea of a short-finned male. Probably a plakat in some muted colours meant to camouflage the mer in the wild.

She was wrong on all three accounts.

The proper colour came in six months into his rehabilitation, after he was finally moved out of the quarantine tank into a permanent hundred gallon. It started at the hips and moved down the tail in a wave of rich, dark red. Talia was satisfied with that –it was a rare shade for a wild mer and it served to justify the time she had ‘wasted’ on Jason in front of her father. Ra’s was all about preserving unusual specimens, whereas she was more concerned with Jason’s stress levels and overall shape.

But then the colours kept coming, darkening on the body until it was almost black; marbled patterns she thought to be scars rose to the top to change from see-through white to gleaming crimson. The fins kept growing, too, colours spilling onto them, electric red shooting through in places, the tail stretching and stretching until it became clear that he wasn’t a plakat at all.

A year after his rescue, Jason didn't resemble the pale, neglected mer that came to the farm in the slightest. He was a splendid rosetail, dark and handsome, his tail lush and full, trailing behind him in the current like a veil and throwing off rainbow reflexes whenever light struck it at an angle.

The only part that remained white was a patch of hair at his forehead, but in Talia’s opinion it only served to make Jason even more special. She had cared for and bred many beautiful specimens in her years in the trade, but he was something truly special. Earlier, her plan was to rehabilitate and then pass him on to a new owner with good credentials –maybe someone who specialised in wild types and preservation. He couldn't go back to the wild, not after so many years spent in captivity, his delicate health wouldn't stand the challenges of the outside world.

That plan has changed, because nowadays giving Jason away wasn’t an option. Talia grew fond of her little rescue and decided to keep him long-term as a mascot, away from the breeding tanks. When and if he starts to express a desire to mate, she’ll provide a suitable female, but so far the mer was happy in his own company, busy with the enrichment program she had planned for him.

She’d love to see him in a community tank one day, playing and interacting with others, but it was a work in progress, he was still nervous and distrustful of other mer. That caused Talia to re-evaluate her previous opinion about the damage to his fins –could it be possible he was forced to fight by his previous owner?

The whole procedure was already distasteful, but to put out a fighter that was underfed and sick was downright idiotic. If that was the case, Jason was lucky to have survived this long.

However, he ended up with her and that was the only important thing.

* * *

Life on the farm couldn't be put on hold and outside of caring for Jason, Talia had her hands full with shows, exhibitions and trade. While her father took care of the breeding program and preservation, she was the face of the company when it came to sales –she had a good eye for trustworthy customers, those who knew what they were getting into and could be left in charge of a mer. She had absolutely no patience for the new, inexperienced players and impulse buyers. That part of the aquatics was already full of abuse and misconceptions, of fools looking for pretty, easy pets they’ve seen on the TV once or trying to teach their kids ‘responsibility’ at the cost of another living being.

Talia had no problem with politely telling a potential customer to fuck off and get their kid a dog, and that’s how she made her name in the business.She and the handful of ethical and experienced traders tried to make the hobby safer for the livestock and more rewarding for the professionals.

Bruce was her partner in crime ever since they’ve been teenagers. He was a hobbyist more than anything, but he was dedicated and filthy rich, not above searching out unethical breeders and putting them out of business. Nowadays, his Manor was chock full of high-tech tanks populated by rescues from all over, that he was tending to with the care of a concerned father.

Honestly, it was adorable.

He was the first one she had considered when the plan was to give Jason away and he accompanied her remotely through every stage of the mer’s recovery. They’ve shared photos and phone calls regularly, he was her cheerleader whenever the case seemed hopeless. When Jason was finally moved out of quarantine, Bruce had sent her a bottle of champagne and they’ve shared a toast through a video-call.

Once the mer was settled in his new environment, Talia invited Bruce over to show him off.

As it happened, Bruce didn't come alone, he brought over his own pupil, the very first of the mer he’d adopted.

Richard was a former part of a travelling exhibition that visited Gotham five years back. The numerous mer they’ve had in stock all had a good pedigree and were well taken care of. Talia herself was at the time considering a breeding deal with old Haly… Before anything came out of it, a burglar broke into the old man’s caravan and in the ensuing scuffle Haly got stabbed and his holding tank was damaged.

Before anyone thought to save the inhabitants of the leaking aquarium, there was only one of them left live. The old man had to auction him off to pay his medical bills and luckily, Bruce was there to help.

Talia still remembered the call she’d received from him that day, excited and panicked, because he was suddenly an owner of a little life he had only the vaguest idea how to take care of. She was in Gotham a day later, loaded up with everything necessary to keep the young mer live and thriving.

That’s how Richard became the fixture of Wayne Manor.

He grew up beautiful, quick and bright, and entirely aware of being a premium specimen. A host of rewards and ribbons that Bruce took home from various shows was a proof of that –a born showman, Dickie _loved_ to have an audience and thrived in the spotlight. It was almost annoying how pretty and smart he was. Sadly, every attempt to breed him both Talia and Bruce had attempted was unsuccessful.

He was very picky about his females, going after the red ones exclusively, which was a pity, since Talia wanted to specifically preserve his mesmerising shade of blue. His mating dance was also complicated and long, and most of the females that were given a chance tended to lose interest after a while, seemingly tired out by just watching his antics. Out of the handful of embraces, not one had ended with a fertilised egg.

A pity, but they kept trying, because Bruce wanted to give his pupil a little pod of his own and Talia wanted to expand her range of blues.

The mating season for mer was in full swing and Bruce decided to try one more time with a promising batch of females Talia had prepared this year.

Unfortunately, as it tended to happen, the breeding tank she had prepared for Richard –seasoned and comfortable, with a nice moderate flow and a lot of vegetation, decided to have a diatom bloom at night before the big event.

There was only one place they could place Richard on such short notice.

Jason’s tank was big enough to temporarily fit two mers without sacrificing too much comfort, and if they didn't get along she could separate them with a net.

Surprisingly, Jason didn't seem to mind his unexpected housemate.

It blindsided Talia with quiet joy –it was hard to find Jay a companion he wouldn't either attack or run from. That he warmed up to another male so quickly was a relief, it meant he wasn’t completely antisocial.

Maybe his little heart was starting to heal, too, and the fear of being attacked started to disperse?

There was some flaring, of course, the males had to assess each other and it gave both owners a chance to show off their respective pupils.

Jay didn't flare often and every time he did Talia was nervously checking his fins for any damage. So far nothing came up, but she was watchful regardless. He wasn’t aggressive in his posturing, only one dash away form a clump of vasillineria he could take refuge in; but he did show off a bit in front of the stranger, clearly set on staking his claim on the tank.

Richard, for his part, seemed okay with being told by a smaller and younger male, because the posturing ended quickly and then both mer busied themselves with their respective feeding dishes.

“That’s quite unusual,” Talia mused, watching the scene unfold. “He’s usually quite shy.”

“Dickie is used to skittish ones, he knows not to be overbearing,” Bruce reassured calmly. “I think he may be a good company for Jay for a few days, he knows how to be gentle with the rescues.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right. Jason could use an experienced companion.”

The idea had merit, Talia wasn’t usually as invested in rehabilitation, her pedigree mer didn't have much contact with the abused ones; that might have been the problem with socialising Jay she didn't realise before.

An hour later both boys seemed to be well on the way to friendship, with Dick eagerly trailing behind Jason, who tried to show his new friend all the best spots in the tank, and Talia could leave them to it with a lighter heart. She had her own friendship to maintain with a nice dinner at the local place and then the rest of the evening to… reconnect.

So, like a pair of irresponsible parents, they’ve left their pupils to their own devices and went to get drunk.

* * *

The mating was, once more, a failure. Dick showed interest in only one of the females he was presented with; their embrace was awkward and didn't result in an egg.

“I think we can stop trying,” Bruce said on the way to the airport. “Dickie is social, but I get a feeling he doesn't really want offspring.”

“Maybe so,” Talia admitted, trying to keep disappointment from her voice. If anything, she didn't waste her time, spending a week with Bruce was worth the expense. “At least Jason has a friend out of it.”

The boys got along swimmingly and Jay opened up in the presence of the other mer. He was more settled at the end of the week, not as skittish as he used to be. Maybe it was time to introduce him to a female of his own?

* * *

A month later, that plan too went up in smoke.

On a Tuesday morning in late spring Talia was left in her nightgown, staring at the result of her thoughtlessness –namely, Jason half-hiding from her, clutching his swollen middle with both arms, as if she was a dangerous predator ready to tear him apart.

Because, apparently, he was an omega male and she didn’t know about it until now.

How could she? It was such a rare breed and she was _so sure_ Jay had been caught in the wild! And he was still young, so the characteristics marking him as a breeder were underdeveloped… well, until now. Now, she could clearly see that his ventral fins were longer than they were on her other males and that his pelvic area was indeed quite wide –something she didn't pay attention to before due to it being offset by the sheer volume of his tail.

On one hand, it was a relief –at least it wasn’t an infection that bloated his middle, thank god, as she had feared when she found him this morning.

On another, it was concerning –Jason’s state just about evened out after years of abuse, his body may not have enough energy to carry successfully to term. There was also the case of different body types. Dick was a plakat and Jason wasn’t, their offspring could come out malformed or, even worse, stillborn. Omegas were live-bearers, too, so there was always the risk of Jay getting damaged in the process…

But it was also exciting in a way –an omega mer was a rarity, and one as beautiful as her pupil? Alluring enough to seduce even the most obstinate mer she’d known and get his pups? That was something to be proud of.

“Oh, Jason,” she sighed over the tank, wishing her pupil could understand her. “What am I going to do with you?”

She offered her finger and, after an uncertain moment, he approached it and wound his arms around it. He didn’t like being picked up, but he’d allowed her to stroke his side for a bit, curling up to the warmth of her skin.

Well, as always, she would persevere and do her best to keep the little scamp alive and happy.

* * *

She kept the whole thing from her father, of course. Ra’s would descend on her penthouse like a man possessed once he’d learned about the one in a thousand specimen she had in her hands. It was his loss that he didn't see worth in Jason when the mer needed help, he wasn’t going to get him when the going was good.

She also kept it from Bruce, just for a while. She wanted to keep it to herself. A strange feeling of excitement blossomed in her chest every time she looked at Jay and saw his growing belly, as if she was a mother in law expecting her first grandchild. Or grandchildren. Which was stupid, because she’d facilitated births of dozens of pups in her years in the business…

And yet, this one was special for some reason.

She made sure to prepare for it appropriately, of course. A birthing cave was placed into the shadowed corner of the tank and the filter's output was lowered almost to nothing; soon Jay will be heavier and less agile, and he will appreciate a gentler current. She doubled the dose of vitamins she was adding to the water and made sure to feed the mer more often.

Then, all that was left was to wait patiently for the big moment to come.

She was so bad at being patient.

* * *

The pup came out three weeks later. Talia wasn’t present for it, she had to sleep from time to time.

Enough that she peeked into the tank after waking up and found Jay peeking back through the curtain of vallisneria, his favourite hiding spot. His stomach was decidedly flatter and his tail was pale, faint stress-stripes running down his sides, but other than that he didn’t look ill or damaged.

When she tapped gently on the glass to get his attention and poured some dry food into the feeding dish, he left the protection of the plants and came to eat. When she offered her finger, he visibly hesitated, and the way he angled his body away towards the cave told Talia that the birth was most probably successful.

He did hug her finger briefly, which caused that strange tingling sensation in her stomach. ( _“Oh no, the ice is melting!”_ A voice very much like Bruce's rang in her ears.) Huh, maybe so.

The next couple of days she didn't see the mer almost at all. It was hard not to panic, but she knew that he was busy with the pup (or pups) and it was a perfectly normal behaviour for his breed to stay out of sight during that time. She got glimpses of him, though, when he came to eat and sometimes when he carried his pup to the surface for a quick breath of fresh air, but these were only glimpses. She didn't get a chance to see the pup itself (she was almost sure there was just one, because what she saw of it was big for a newborn).

She installed an extra airstone in the tank just as a precaution, because she was apparently an overbearing grandmother.

* * *

In the end she decided to tell Bruce. It would be unfair to keep the pup away from its sire, after all.

The man, predictably, reacted as if his own firstborn was being kept from him and demanded to see the ‘baby’ as soon as possible, threatening a lawsuit for parental rights.

He was such a goof, but that’s what she loved about him.

* * *

It might have been her imagination, but Richard looked like he knew exactly why he was flown back to Turkey this time. Mers mental capacity was always a case of discussion and controversy, but if there was a way for a being so small to look smug, it had to be Richard.

His re-introduction to Jason’s tank was tense, but went well overall.

Jason reacted to the presence of another mer with an expected level of aggression –he went all out, flaring and posturing, trying to drive the intruder away from the cave and his nest. Bruce almost pulled Dick out, concerned about a possible fight, but it didn’t take long for Jay to recognise the other.

Richard was, for a lack of better word, excited to see him. He swam up to Jay and tangled their arms and tails, mushing their faces together. Then he eagerly swam behind the omega to the cave, stopping at the mouth of it, unwilling to go in after Jason. He seemed to know what he was going and Talia shared a look with Bruce, reading the same though in his eyes.

Was Richard an alpha, perchance? Would that be why his previous matings didn't work out? Maybe he wasn’t made for fertilising eggs… and oh, why didn't they take that under consideration? Sure, alphas had even less recognisable physical characteristics than omegas, but Talia was supposed to be a professional!

However, their attention was brought back to the happenings inside of the tank, where Jason slowly inched out of the cave with a bundle in his arms. It was tiny, smaller than a third of a thumb, and pale enough to be almost translucent, as were the pups that didn’t have the luxury of growing up in an egg until they were ready to hatch. It was hard to discern the shape of the body or where the limbs started or ended; only the eyes were clearly visible –two black spots directed towards Richard.

Talia wasn’t aware that she decided to grasp Bruce’s, hand until he squeezed back, when the alpha nuzzled his face into the tiny new creature they’ve made with the omega.

She wasn’t even aware that her eyes were wet, until Bruce smiled at her with that goofy softness.

“Well,” he said. “I think we’ll need a bigger tank.”

Damn right they did.

* * *

One week later she got an explanation for her distressingly soft heart and sudden mood-swings. It would seem that not only Richard got lucky during the last mating season.

As always, she was going to persevere. There were things that had to be dealt with and preparations to be made.

She was looking forward to calling Bruce again.


	6. What water gave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This one has all the warnings. Explicit. Non-Con. Beware! :O

He was always weak when it came to kids in danger. Living with no designation, he didn't even have an excuse of being an omega. Rather, it was bitter personal experience that made it easy to empathise with them and that empathy was a powerful motivator in Jason’s crusade to save as many as he could. One needn't be an omega to care.

It wasn’t something he kept a secret, nor something he was ashamed of, and even his Red Hood persona was somewhat known for that particular weakness. He didn't mind –those ballsy enough to use it against him tended to suffer more than any other scum he’d managed to get his hands on. The criminal element of Gotham promptly caught on to the fact that any potential gain wasn’t worth the fire and brimstone raining on their heads. Red Hood didn't have weaknesses that could be exploited, what he had were trigger buttons that deactivated the kid gloves approach.

That’s why it was so galling when this particular ruse worked.

The kid was scrawny and small, from afar about six years old, gender unrecognisable under the patchwork of oversized, filthy clothing and a mop of tangled hair. It staggered down the Orwell, a street just as derelict and dirty as everything South of the Warehouse District, and Jason didn't doubt that he was the only person in half-mile radius to hear its choked up wails and one of the few in this whole damn neighbourhood who gave a damn.

He wasn’t even in uniform. It was one of the few rare nights where he didn't have a patrol or an investigation to follow –if pressed, he’d probably find something to do, but a healing bullet hole in his right bicep was a strong encouragement to kick back and relax for a while. Alfred ordered bed rest and Jason complied. Alfred asked him to recuperate in the Manor, and this Jason denied without thinking. Time spent with the ‘pack’ was something he rationed responsibly and losing the ability to leave the place once it became too much was not an acceptable concession even when the old man asked. Jason promised to let the butler poke at his arm periodically and that was that.

He was on the way to such a session, actually, stepping out of his safe-house, strapping his biking gloves on and pulling out the keys to his motorcycle when a child’s wails caught his attention. It was a cold night, late November on the coast was always wet and chilly, nights tended to freeze water over and the homeless of the city had a harder time surviving. The sight of a child so obviously lost and hurt tugged at Jason’s heartstrings and, like an idiot, he decided to leave his bike and approach the little figure.

Carefully, making himself look as harmless as he could manage, he crossed the child’s path. “Hey, there,” he called, voice soft. “Are you okay?” It obviously wasn’t, but street kids were reliably jumpy and easy to spook. This one stopped a few feet from him and curled up on itself, looking even more pathetic. It didn't answer, but it didn't have to, Jason understood.

He unzipped his jacket and slowly offered it to the kid. He had spares in the safe-house and the little thing was shivering in its torn rags. “Here, take it. You can give it back later.”

After a moment of hesitation, the child uncurled and stepped closer, and thank God, Jason was chilled just looking at its slowly disintegrating shoes. Once he had a shred of trust, he was going to offer the shrimp some warm food and ask it where the parents were. He wasn’t expecting a happy answer, but you had to start somewhere.

A pair of nearly skeletal hands emerged from the tangle of rags; one grasped the jacket, the other closed on Jason’s fingers. The touch was ice-cold and before he managed to react, the kid raised their head and he had the first look at the face that… that was _wrong_. All wrong. Wrong in a sense that he could not explain in the moment that had his brain screaming in a high-pitched voice of denial.

“Thank you,” the _thing_ said, words low and choppy, the icy fingers tightened and the cold speared up Jason’s forearm leaving flesh numb in its wake. “Thank you, great…” The words that followed washed out into a gurgling, sickly hiss and Jason felt his throat close…

Somehow he managed to tear his hand away from the grasp, somehow he managed to take a step back from this creature –but the eyes that were black and flat refused to release him, and screaming in the back of his head intensified until his vision started to swim and his stomach rolled, and he couldn't reach for his gun, because his body was turning numb…

“Do not fear,” the not-child-creature’s voice managed to reach him. “You’re honoured, _ha’rasz_.”

The sidewalk jumped at him and Jason didn't have a thought to spare for how he didn’t feel any cold anymore. 

* * *

Jason had almost drowned in the Bay when he was ten.

Even that young, he was made of bravado, it kept him alive after all, but once the cold water closed over his head and pushed down his nose and into his throat all pretence of bravery disappeared. His jacket wound around his body, his ratty backpack suddenly weighted fifty pounds and no matter how hard he fought, Jason couldn’t push against the unrelenting grip of the cold, dark water.

It was an accident that got him out, a numb hand finding something to grip, an old rusty pole left after a catwalk that crumbled into the water years prior. He pulled himself out onto the shore, gasping and shivering, and so scared.

It was strange that it was this memory that returned to him now, something so insignificant compared to what came after –to being murdered, to waking up in a coffin, to the dip in the Pit. If his brain tried to find a tragic experience in some expression of self-punishment, there were more acute ones than something so removed he’d barely remembered it.

Alas, that’s what came to him when he regained his consciousness –or rather, tried to. It was just like back then, a struggle to the surface, fighting against the current that tried to drag him back down into the icy depths and darkness. He was _almost_ there, his outstretched hand parting the water, fingertips raking through the air, but his face was still submerged.

He wasn't drowning, but he felt wetness around him, cold and unpleasant. He couldn't see well, it was a struggle to open his eyes, to push the eyelids above the half-mast point, to focus. It was so hard to focus on anything outside of his own body –maybe because his body was a constant source of distractions.

His skin was wet, a lot more skin than he expected; it took a while to figure out that he was naked –he didn't remember undressing. He remembered putting his jacket on, getting ready to… to visit the Manor… yes? He was going to visit Alfred about his hand… and then.... And then a child…

And then his brain screeched to a halt so sudden he had to close his eyes and bite his tongue and still a moan of distress escaped his tightening throat.

 _Don't go there_ , his brain tried to tell him, _don't go there!_

The sound, however, had an effect of a sudden lack of movement around him –and he just now noticed that he wasn’t alone. He shifted, tried to see, to speak –it took ten heartbeats for the movement to resume and it was hurried, light, but not gentle. Fluttering of unsure hands over his chest and his legs, half a dozen of them dragging damp clothes across his skin as others were gripping him, pulling, pushing his limbs this and that way to ease the process. Jason groaned in protest, trying to move, to escape the incessant touch –but the hands didn't stop, whoever had him grew more rushed, as if more nervous.

Hushed whispers filtered through the confusion, but told him nothing, the sounds were gravelly and muted, as if heard through ears full of water. He wanted to shake his head, to clear his hearing, but almost instantly one of the hands landed on his forehead, pushing down, stopping the motion. Jason was too weak to fight it, and its owner seemed to know, because they were gentle, brushing his fringe away from his forehead in a motherly caress meant to calm.

He would be calmer if he couldn't feel his legs being pulled apart for the clothes to reach the insides of his thighs. They didn't stop there, but by the time Jason started thrashing in panic, something was pressed to his lips, cool liquid filled his throat and he choked, and then blacked out again.

* * *

When he woke up next time, his skin was still numb, he was still naked and cold, and this time his eyes were covered with a cloth. The bastards blindfolded him!

A growl of protest was muted by a twisted knot forced between his teeth.

They’ve gagged him, too.

Previous hazy alarm blossomed into a full-blown panic, because that wasn’t all; this time he was also bound. He was laying on something hard, but not rough –like a very thin sleeping bag or a sack strewn over the concrete floor. But it wasn’t concrete, because it was uneven, parts of it were sticking into his back and he couldn't shift to ease the discomfort, because his arms and legs were stretched taut and chained down. He could feel cold metal gripping his wrists and ankles and hear the distinctive sound of a chain when he tried to struggle. He was still a bit muddled, as if hungover, but he understood enough to know he was put on display and it wouldn't end well if he didn't do something!

 _Would they find him? The family._ A thought appeared. Would they look for him? Did he want to be found this way?

Better in disgrace than murdered or raped.

In his distress he didn't pay attention to the sounds around him, testing the chains and failing to make the fastenings budge, scraping his skin and twisting his joints. It only came to him when he stopped for a deeper breath. _The sound._ Like bubbling water, like whispers, a hum floating around him, echoing back down from some high ceiling, many voices –he couldn't tell how many exactly, they were echoing and layering on top of one another to the point where it sounded like there were two dozens of people in there with him.

He groaned, trying to get anyone’s attention, thrashed and yelled, tried to slip the blindfold off, to see the faces of the bastards that had the fucking balls to disrespect the Red Hood like that. He almost succeeded, too, almost got the fabric off one eye –but before it slipped off, someone grabbed his head with both hands so someone else could move the blindfold back into place.

He screamed in anger. If only one of his hands was free, they’d regret ever laying their hands on him.

It had an opposite effect, though, as the hands holding his head didn't budge; in fact, more hands appeared. Some big and rough, some distressingly small and cold, his skin broke out into goosebumps when they touched his stomach and sides.

What the fuck was happening?! What did they want! Was it some crazy fucked up sex cult or something? Or was it just a normal, crazy cult and he was about to be sacrificed to their god?

Did they know who he was or was he just a random victim pulled off the street, because he was stupid enough to have a heart?

Where was the Bat?! Alfred had to notice he didn't show up to the meeting – _someone_ had to notice! Why haven’t they found him already?!

The train of thought stopped dead when his ears were pinched. The pain was minute, but biting, and a slow drip of warmth. Stroking cold fingers, soothing murmurs followed by more pain –not acute, but persistent. It brought a memory to life; the time when he was ten and asked the girl living next door at the time to pierce his ear. A piercing was a fashionable statement back then, even more so for the alley kids. It took him a month to put away enough money for a simple small silver hoop –nowadays he knew that the owner of the pawn shop scammed him on it, back then he was just a stupid kid.

The pain was the same, though: faint stinging that blossomed into an ache, Julie’s unsure hands fitting the hoop into the hole she’d made with a hypodermic needle God only knew where she got from. He was so stupid, he could have gotten any kind of disease from it… and the ear got infected anyways, after the asshole who taught PE told Jason to remove the hoop for class… he had to put it back in on his own and no one had told him that spit wasn’t enough sanitise anything, and…

Another sting, higher on the cartilage.

His ears were pierced.

 _They were piercing his ears._ Putting something in them; it was heavy once the hands retreated, heavy enough to feel its pull. The hands didn't move far, some held his head –careful to avoid the ears –and some moved to his nose, and Jason screamed through the gag, because no! No, not this! He wasn’t an animal to be ringed! He wasn’t going to be branded!

It was no use, however, his body was weak, the hands numerous; they held him easily when he trashed, stroked and shushed him, and kept him still as he groaned in protest and then in pain when the needle (it was a needle, fuck!) stabbed through his septum. It hurt much more than the ears. Jason gasped, expecting blood to start flowing into his throat, but his captors were ahead of him, tilting his head forward until he could feel warmth drenching his upper lip.

He wanted to tell them all to fuck off, he wanted to _kill_ , but then his left nipple was pinched and he froze like a deer in headlights, a high-pitched whine escaping him without his consent, because they couldn’t…!

Afterwards, it went quickly –and at the same time tortuously slow. Or it was just his brain that slowed the whole thing down, unable to cope. The pain wasn’t terrible, Jason has been through worse, but he couldn’t move, and he couldn't see and he couldn't speak, and the darkness and cold compounded every sensation until it echoed through him, wave after wave of suffering after every needle-stab. His chest, both sides, and his lower lip, and his navel, and his right cheek –it burned, flesh bloody and stretched by the weight of whatever metal decorations they’ve decided to stuff into the holes.

He was weeping at the end, he wasn't sure why; the hands kept stroking and petting, and the voices rose above and around him, gurgling and choked, and hissed, some almost legible, whispering into his bleeding ears until they echoed inside of his head.

_“Honoured. Honoured. Ah, Great Mother blesses...!”_

_“Shh, shh, hush, you are chosen, chosen by the Father, chosen by the Child!”_

_“Honoured, ha’rasz harnash, the heart of a new stream, where the new water springs...! Adorned be, oh honoured!”_

He wanted them to stop talking, to stop… to stop… to just stop…

_“Honoured!”_

_“Honoured…!”_

What was happening? What did they want from him?!

What was…

The metal piercing his flesh was distressingly cold, the wounds it filled tingled and stung, and Jason felt stripped naked in a completely new way when damp clothes appeared again and started to wipe the blood off.

 _“Ah, honoured, ha’rasz harnash,”_ someone whispered into his ear. The rest of the words washed out into a growly rasp, and Jason felt as if his brain sizzled and his eardrum popped, and he slipped under again.

* * *

It was a pattern for a while, he couldn’t say for how long exactly. He was blond and voiceless, and with every new awakening, his mind seemed to unravel under the weight of anger and fear, and the constant whispering happening around him, above him, these intelligible words washing over him like caresses –or maybe these were real, because they’ve kept touching him. Constantly, not a moment went without someone’s hand stroking his side or fingers tracing over his hands, threading between his numb fingers as if in a friendly grip. A mockery of affection. If he had enough awareness left, he’d think that he was being fawned over, like a holy statue at the gates of a church.

When his arms ached, there were fingers to massage tense muscles loose. When he tried to find a position for his head to relieve the pain of resting on a hard surface, there were soft palms to support it that stayed in position for as long as necessary, like some grotesque pillow made of flesh. He was given water and nothing else.

Time lost its meaning in the drugged haze (he knew he was drugged, they were pouring something into his mouth, rubbing it into his skin and it burned before going numb - skin and mind alike).

His abdomen ached for a while, but then even that stopped.

_“Honoured!”_

The only word he understood out of the tumult that kept rising and falling in volume, in strength, as if more and more people kept appearing to fawn and touch and whisper.

His body went through the stages of strain caused by his thrashing, of pain caused by immobility, of cold and shivering, and numbness, finally setting on a state of weightlessness that made everything feel unreal, inconsequential.

He waited to be saved, but not being aware of what form made it hard to hope…

* * *

When things changed, it was sudden.

It seemed like he was floating in that cold darkness for ages before the ones around him came into movement and the echoing voices picked up volume and tempo. As if the world that stood in stasis was suddenly pushed into frantic motion.

Jason almost brained himself when his body seized in shock as a bucketful of water was poured over him with no warning. He couldn't hurt himself, the hands wouldn't let him, cushioning his head; and with how cold he was, it was hard to move anyway.

He groaned, but the sound got lost in the clamour and this time it was distinctive enough to be called chanting. Bit it was no language he’d ever heard; it barely sounded like a language at all.

Jason didn't have time to try and discern words, however, because a dozen hands pressed into his body, rubbing something slick into his skin. Oil? It smelled sharp, but not unpleasant, and the steady circular motions were lulling –if not for the ones that crept between his legs, caressing his thighs, slipping lower and lower, to where his cock laid limp, over it, underneath, where the softest part of his body laid unprotected.

He whined when his knees were pushed up and out, to make space, when they parted his cheeks and put everything on display to be fondled and stroked, until his hips were jerking and his throat sore from trying to scream.

They didn't miss an inch with the oil, every bit of uncovered skin was drenched and rubbed till it tingled, even the spaces between his toes, even the backs of his knees, even his most private parts had fingers pushing in and out of them, as if to slick him up.

“Ple...se…” he moaned when the gag was finally taken out of his mouth. His jaws were sore and his tongue felt like a plank of wood. “Sto...pleas…”

It didn't matter, he couldn’t raise his voice above that steady incantation.

They’ve poured water into his mouth and Jason stopped feeling his limbs for a while. For long enough to be lifted, carried, to be laid back down on a smooth cold surface. They didn't need to chain him back up, the cold was so pervasive that it soaked into his body and turned it into a stone statue.

They’ve arranged him to their liking, with his legs bent at the knees, open for whatever was going to happen. He had a suspicion, but his mind was barely tethered to his body, it was almost impossible to care above the chanting and the singing, and the scent of heavy incense in the air, and the weight of the metal piercing him…

It was hard to care when the prayer (because it was a prayer, wasn’t it? He could almost...) rose and sharpened into a wail that hurt to hear…

Then the body descended onto his own, easily slipping between his legs, the girth pushing them further away and nothing else was more important than trying to get away from whoever that was. Jason arched back, trying to force his arms to come back online, to swallow down the heavy wave of panic that was rising to his throat, because this was going to happen. This was really going to happen –to him, of all people.

This was… no, no he wasn't going to let it...

 _“Thousand young!”_ The chant rose. _“Thousand young!”_

He was entered so suddenly and swiftly it punched the breath out of him. Not because it hurt –it didn't, but that could be blamed on many factors, panic or drugs he was given, or the shock bringing back the worst of his memories…

Whoever it was, he wasn’t willing to wait for Jason to adjust to the intrusion, but started moving almost immediately with strong, sure thrust that shifted Jason’s body in the slab and scrambled his thoughts to the winds.

It wasn’t pleasure –no, nothing as rudimentary as that. It was like an electric current running through him from the very toes to the top of his head, on the way catching on every single piercing in an explosion of sparks. It was like the inside of his skin was scoured with a steel-wire brush all at once, leaving him gasping and trembling. It didn't cease, though, with every thrust the sensation repeated, over and over, leaving him wailing, the blindfold soaking up tears and sweat.

The man was big, in very sense, when he laid one hand flat on Jason’s abdomen it covered the whole of it. He was warm. Like nothing else in that place, he was warm and Jason’s mind clung to that warmth when nothing else seemed solid.

“ _Ha’rasz harnash! Ha’rasz harnash!”_

_“Honoured Father! Honoured Mother”_

_“Partake, partake! New stream will spring to your glory!”_

The world tilted around Jason, or maybe his brain was finally fried? He could swear that he was lifted into the air, held up by numerous hands (were all of them hands?) and the thrusting didn’t stop or waver. Hot fingers ran over the piercings, over the decorations adorning his body, then something soft and slick followed, like lips, like dry ice sliding across his skin and leaving a phantom cold behind.

_“Honoured Mother! Ha’rasz harnash!”_

_“Honoured! Honoured!“_

There was humming above him, a growl. Incessant buzzing that hurt his ears. He was full, so full, it felt like he was choking on it, even though it was impossible. It felt like there was more than one hardness splitting him open, like there was more movement between his legs than just one person, like layers of feeling converged into some sick kaleidoscope of sensation overheating his brain.

“Honoured! Honoured!“

“Great Mother, _ha’rasz harnash, honoured vessel! Bless us with your mercy, new water springing from the stone! Bless us, bless us…“_

Vessel? What?

There was heat gathering in his belly, chasing away the cold, but bringing in dread. The things touching him weren’t hands and the things inside of him weren’t normal… and he didn't have hope of surviving this thing, because it felt like his organs were being re-arranged…

No one was coming to save him...

* * *

“So then.” The Witchboy folded his arms across the chest, staring at the wall of darkness in front of him. That particular city was never his favourite, not even close, and the beings inhabiting it were even less so.

But they were powerful and constricted by the laws of their dominion, and that was an opportunity Klarion wouldn't dare to waste. Throughout the decades Gotham had tangled itself in its own leash, an outsider offering help could count on a handsome reward.

“I have provided a vessel for your Lords,” he reminded the rolling gloom around him. “A breeder from the pack of the very Bat himself!” And he was proud of himself too, it wasn’t a walk in the park to secure that particular omega –and convincing his body it should fully blossom was even more of a feat. “Will you give me what I’ve asked for?”

A grounded portal in Blue Rafters was a worthy prize, a foothold in the city that even the Bat and his mystical acquaintances wouldn't be able to close. Gotham was a city built on water, the beings calling it theirs were just as shapeless and fluid, their power was just as insidious as the madness permeating the very air of the city, creating one monster after another.

There hasn’t been a new one born in Gotham in a while; high time for it to change.

The darkness rolled and hissed when Klarion decided to leave it at that, knowing that his reward was secured.


	7. Overdue absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, this is a bit of a followup to the fic from the last year's OJTW, DamiJay 'Damaged Goods'. I know that when people asked for a sequel this isn't what they were thinking of, but I had this idea in my head for a long time now and wanted to put it on paper;] 
> 
> To reiterate - Damian in this story is a Head of the Ghul, it's kind of a Batman Beyond!verse where everyone are adults and the world is crap.

Jason Todd’s final death was brave and heroic and, as most things in his life, went largely unacknowledged. Fitting of the man he was, selfless and ready to sacrifice himself for those in need faster than anyone ever gave him credit for. Not looking for praise from the "heroes" of the world, just doing what he thought was his duty towards the weak and disfranchised.

Immediately after, Damian Al Ghul made sure the man was buried with all the honours he deserved and that his memory would be carried on in the League of Shadows, that he will be honoured for his bravery and strength.

Immediately after, Damian Wayne curled up into the cold nest constantly built on and adjusted throughout the last ten years, and he broke down, weeping for his lost mate and his broken bond.

Jason was dead and life lost its very meaning for a long, long while.

The League gave him time to mourn –a loss of an omega was always harsh, but the respect they've held for the mate of their leader was deep and binding, so they’ve mourned with him. However, all too soon the world came knocking and Damian had to pour steel back into his spine, lock the doors to the chamber they’ve shared with Jason for a decade and pretend he’d put that ghost to rest.

He was an alpha in his prime, after all, just beginning the third decade of his life, he was expected to live long and leave a worthy heir to inherit his clan.

But how could he?

How could he find an omega that would be worthy in the absence of Jason? There were no omegas to match him, there were few alphas that could. Jason Todd was one of a kind creature born out of strife and reared by the best and the worst of this world, and he raised above them all to lead a life of his own choosing. That he’d agreed to Damian’s courting in the first place was a miracle, one that the alpha worked for ever since reaching maturity –years it took him to understand what kind of treasure Jason was, and then years on top of that to obtain that treasure for himself. He was never under the illusion that Jason would consider him if he was in any way lacking. He’d made himself better for his mate, he’d made himself _worthy_ of his bite, at every step fought the Western world that dismissed his attempts as foolishness –because courting an omega older than oneself was considered shameful.

Damian knew exactly what he wanted and Jason knew exactly what he didn’t want. And somehow, against all odds, they made it work.

They had a decade to explore their unexpected compatibility, to take joy in the bond built on mutual respect.

Only for some second-grade _creature_ (it did not deserve to be called a human, after all) to bury all that with an almost accidental stroke of luck.

Damian killed the wretch, of course. With his naked hands, slowly, making sure the creature knew exactly what was happening and why, mindless of the attempts his brothers made to stop him. Even in their pain, they still wanted a trial for the wretched thing, a _fair court_ and a _prison_. Delusion was always strong within his family. That they’d expect _him_ to stand aside and calmly let it happen, when the body of his mate was still warm in his arms no more than hours prior, when the blood of his Beloved still warmed his hands.

They should have known better. Or maybe not, none of them had mates of their own, they didn't know how devastating a broken bond felt.

Richard wasn’t talking to him, which was fair, Damian supposed, even if it was hurting the child still sometimes travelling the twisting hallways of his mind. The self-sacrificing fool probably blamed himself for losing both brothers at the same time, cursing himself for not stopping the tragedy in time. When he was in a dark mood, Damian blamed Dick too, because some part of him still wanted to believe in the infallibility of his first real parental figure.

Some parts of the family followed Dick’s example. Ones that could ignore Damian taking the helm of the League and his relationship with a man described as his ‘brother’ could not, it seemed, stomach the idea of an alpha avenging his mate. He didn't expect anything else from them, to be honest, a band of sanctimonious pricks who wouldn't understand a mating bond if it accosted them in bright daylight. Damian found particular pleasure in reminding Gordon that her throat was still unmarked and assuring Cain that hers will always stay clean.

(It was cruel of him, he knew, and not entirely fair, but at the time he was little more than a beast trashing in agony and when they came at him with scorn, he lashed out like one.)

Drake was more reasonable, he always seemed to understand the best where everyone’s limits laid and this time Damian chose to be grateful for it, having the head of the Justice League after him then would be impractical –he wouldn't bother to hold back on account of their familiarity if Redbird decided to raise an issue. Luckily, Timothy was smarter than that and stepped back to let him grieve in peace. Damian appreciated it and in turn respected Drake’s own grief –throughout the years Timothy and Jason became quite close and friendly; even if their philosophies clashed, they were practical enough to let the other keep their opinion and worked well together in the field and outside it. Damian didn't understand it, but he didn't have to, as Jason put it, he just needed to roll with it.

Jason always knew how to turn his focus to things that were truly important, how to tear him away from the trappings of a spoiled child that sometimes still reared its head.

Even Goliath was despondent ever since his master’s mate had left, Damian could see it clearly, the great beast was just as expressive as any other pet he used to have as a child, and just as easy to win by a hand that dispensed ear scritches. Now one of the main providers was gone and the beast couldn't seem to find a place for itself.

Damian too felt adrift without him, like a ship left with its sails torn, abandoned to wander across the ocean in search of a mirage turning paler and paler in the mist…like Jason’s scent that used to permeate his wardrobe and hover over his favourite armchair. Like the memories Damian reviewed so often they seemed to fry at the edges, wither away like old photographs handled without care.

He yearned to ask Father how did one deal with loss so acute? How did he deal with himself when Jason was taken from the world for the first time?

He couldn't ask. Father, of course, disapproved of his deed and, in a true Batman fashion, cut contact. He had his own mourning to keep him busy, and as it was usual, put it above anyone else's needs.

However, Damian grew used to his disapproval a long time ago. He had built an immunity to it in the years following his successful mating with Jason and even the notion of never winning his sire’s regard back lost its sharp edges in the hazy depressive state of abandonment that took over him. His temper grew short, his decisions rushed and careless, he knew that at times he has made some bad ones… too reckless with the lives of others and his own. He had little care with the world that took his mate away, slowly starting to understand where his grandfather's distaste towards it came from.

That realisation, however unexpected, kept him from skipping further into the malaise. The one thing in his life he was sure of, apart from his childish desire for his father's love, was to escape the Al Ghul fate, escape the snare of Destiny that Ra's had conjured for them. He swore, a long time ago, that he will never be like his grandfather. He swore it to Richard, when he left Gotham to take over the League that was growing dangerous in the absence of a leader. He swore it to Jason, when he pleaded with the omega to join him at the helm. He swore it to himself, when the Pit called him night after lonely night when his mate wasn't there to hold him anymore through his nightmares…

He wasn't going to be like Ra's. If he used the Pit to revive Jason, he'd lose not only his mate's love, but also the last dregs of his humanity. Jason had made it abundantly clear that using Lazarus waters on him again was not an option he'd accept. He had made Damian swear that he'd never consider it and the alpha was bound to that oath, no matter how hard it was.

But –but he was considering it, whispers of the green Hell were loud in his ears and on some days the idea was so tempting… even if Jason hated him afterwards, he would be _there_ at least to hate and a part of Damian tried to pretend that he wasn’t too selfish to deal with rejection if only his mate was alive.

With time the whispers grew stronger –strong enough that one day he gave an order to retrieve his mate’s remains and cremate them (something he should have done at the beginning, but had no courage for). He didn't witness it –it would kill him to stand there and breathe in the smoke –but the small ornate box of ashes settled something in him.

Half a year after their bond was broken it finally felt definitive. He stared at the box in his hands and the reality of the loss finally hit him like it should from the very beginning. There was no turning back now, Jason was gone and Damian had to learn to live with it.

* * *

Except, neither Al Ghuls nor Waynes were good at letting go.

* * *

Jason was never very open about his past and Damian never enquired too strongly, in part because he respected his mate’s silence on the subject, in part because for the longest time he was convinced that he knew the worst of it. He had relied on the information contained in Father’s databases, trusting the man’s diligence in gathering intel. He should have known better. When it came to Jason Todd, everyone should have known better.

It should be also applied to his mother, it would seem. Just like Jason, Talia was a woman struggling against her fate; scorned and rejected, and painted with the darkest colours, but still fighting to leave a legacy of her own. It took time for Damian to reconsider his mother and his own childhood; it took growing up while straddling the border between the worlds of his father and grandfather to finally understand Talia and the woman she had to be.

He tried to hate her, for the longest time, as much as he tried to unconditionally love Richard –but in the end he was too intelligent for a view of the world that was this simplistic. Richard wasn’t an angel, even though he was a good man, he wasn’t blameless. And Talia wasn’t a monster, even though she was merciless and unforgiving, he wasn’t heartless.

Once more, that understanding came through Jason –Jason who had a strangely colloquial relationship with her, who didn’t condemn her, even though he admitted her faults easily. Just as he’d admitted his own.

Damian hasn’t seen his mother for years, wasn’t even sure she was alive. But a month after the burning of the body, she appeared to pay her respects.

They’d had a strange bond, the two of them, a Daughter of the Demon and a boy she raised for a few short years, one Damian didn't pretend to understand –but he understood enough to take her grief at face value and allow her mourning. After all, none of their brothers or sisters have bothered so far.

And when afterwards she came to Damian, he had the patience to let her speak.

Talia was always succinct and to the point, and this situation wasn’t different.

“He was more than he seemed,” she said, staring Damian down in a way only she could. What Nyssa did to her a long time ago prolonged her youth, so now they looked more like siblings than anything else. Damian didn't know how to feel about it. “More than any one of us ever knew.” Her eyes rested on the ornate box placed in the centre of a shrine built around it. “I had hoped he would return, that whatever brought him back once, would deem it again.”

That gave Damian a pause.

“Wasn’t it the Pit?” He asked.

Talia shook her head, memories clouding her smile. “He came to us alive, with the smell of dirt still clinging to him. Dug his way out of the grave like a restless pup he was. I have nursed him, for a time, as his body healed and strengthened. I used Lazarus only to restore his mind.”

A shard of emotion punched through the dark wall of malaise at her words.

“Father had hoped to know how he returned. I have only wished for him to find peace, that’s why I’ve sent him to the Allcaste for training.” Her gaze turned wistful when she looked back to her son. “I’m happy to know he’d finally found it by your side.”

That night Damian went to sleep with his thoughts racing.

He woke up with a purpose.

* * *

Taking them at face value, the members of the Allcaste weren’t that impressive.

But then Damian reminded himself that most of the people he looked at were dead and felt a shiver running down his spine.

“Why isn’t he with you?” He asked. “If you’re all staying here, if you can discard death with such ease, why isn't he here with you?”

It was the sound of hope dying that made them answer, he suspected, more than any threat Damian represented. Even the Head of the Demon didn’t scare these people, because how could it? They were dealing in things much greater than the League.

And Jason used to belong with them. Jason was a mystic –and Damian never knew.

“That child’s spirit is bound by different laws than ours,” they answered. “His first death fixed him like a pin in the fabric of reality and his resurrection pulled the pin back. Now there’s a hole where his spirit should rest, an empty echo across the universe. Not all that return from behind the veil get written back into the fabric, some struggle with the world that doesn't accept them back, trying to find a place for themselves.”

It was a dour knowledge that tightened around Damian's throat like a vice. To know that his mate was unwanted to the point of the reality itself rejecting his presence, that he’d fought so hard to _stay_ for all these years.

“He isn’t gone,” the old woman told him, her voice gentling for a short moment. “But he is drifting. Many realities have a Jason Todd, and in many he is just as adrift as ours was.”

When she looked at him, her eyes were knowing, and the tight set of her mouth told Damian that she approved of a thought that struck him, against her better judgement.

* * *

The thing about being a grandson of an alchemist and a son of a man often involved in inter-universe travels, was that it wasn’t just the knowledge one acquired with time. It was also resources.

* * *

“Oh? And what can you give me for it?”

Klarion, as Damian had learned throughout the years, was a pain in the ass of the highest order. It was almost a mockery that his usefulness very nearly offset the sheer mental expense of interacting with him in any capacity.

He’d barely changed in the last decade and a half; a boy ever since Damian met him for the first time, thin like a spider, pale like old parchment. The only thing that changed were the eyes that got blacker and bleaker, the circles of darkness around them deepening. He was like a monochrome that came to an approximation of life, moving and speaking, but shaded with a daguerreotypesque grain. One look at him was enough to tell that he was barely tethered to the reality he visited like a tourist. The cat that followed him was more akin to a shadow than anything of substance.

Damian, in his Robin days, dealt with the Witchboy more than he’d like to and then, as a Head of Demon, he’d dealt with him some more. Unpleasant as it was, it gave him insight into Klarion’s mind –alien in a way, but simple in others.

“What would you like?” He could afford to be generous, enough to startle the boy with it.

“What do you have that could be of use to me?”

He thought he was smart, this kid that never had anything substantial to lose.

“A Lazarus Pit for personal use.”

That caused the narrow mouth to snap closed over whatever words that wanted to escape it, the black eyes widened, then narrowed. Damian was unmoved.

“And why would I need one? I am The Witchboy, I have at my fingertips the power you mortals would never….”

“So, you don't want it. Very well.”

“I never said that!”

Damian would smile if he was so inclined, but ever since he’d lost his mate, smiling did not come easy.

* * *

Many things had to be considered before the last steps could be taken, but Damian’s mind was preoccupied, unable to focus for longer than a few minutes at a time.

The ethics of the deed he was about to commit were, of course, dubious, but then when were the ethics ever a deciding factor in his life? Both of his families taught him that ethics were what you made of them and the only difference between them was that whereas Grandfather based his in self-preservation, Father’s were justified by his Mission.

Damian also had a Mission –after nearly a year of malaise and dullness, and lack of interest in anything, he finally had something to work towards; a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

His Light. His Beloved.

It wouldn't be the same, of course, and Damian didn't expect it to be. Jason of his world was obstinate and stubborn, and distrustful, and it was a sure bet that other Jasons out there were following the same pattern.

Damian did his homework –Klarion was a mouthy brat, but he was thorough once properly motivated. The undertaking he was presented with tickled his curiosity and it was enough to get his allegiance for a while –perpetual tourist as he was, the Witchboy was nothing if not tenacious and daring. And this deed was daring indeed.

The investigation confirmed Damian’s suspicions –there was a Jason Todd born in every known dimension, and in every one of them, he’d died. Only in some he came back.

It seemed like his Beloved was cursed by the universe, not one version of him got to experience life without strife, not even when the other members of the family got to live theirs in a myriad different ways. There was a universe out there where Batman was a villain. There was one where Damian had never been born. There was one where he had a blood sister of all things. Many universes without secondary genders, without mated pairs.

But not one where Jason Todd got to live a long and happy life.

It wasn’t fair.

If Damian’s resolve was solid before, that realisation, that _unfairness_ , cemented it in place. He was going to fight with fate and he was going to win, and he wasn’t going to allow anyone get in his way.

He just needed to make a choice and prepare for the consequences.

There was an appeal to the idea of getting his mate young, of influencing his growth and giving him better chances at survival, of sparing him the pain his first life was full of. But, as cold as it was, Damian didn't fall in love with a child, nor with an innocent. Grooming a youth to match his tastes would be distasteful in a situation that was already borderline immoral. He wasn’t going to pretend that the endgame he set out for was anything other than what it was.

He wanted a Jason who was angry and rough, and kind in the strangest of ways; one that was experienced by life and yet unbroken. He wanted a match to his own nature, an omega that only ever happened once.

Once per dimension, that is.

* * *

“Are you sure that is what you want to do?”

 _Did you not know me?_ He wanted to ask back. _Have you ever seen me unsure when it came to Jason?_

But he didn't, because Timothy was not there to argue with him. Otherwise he wouldn't allow Goliath to follow him through the compound to Damian’s study.

“Would you be here if you had any doubts, Drake?” He asked instead, head not rising from the tablet screens spread on his work desk. He always did the best work at night.

From the corner of his eye he could see the stiff posture, the edge of the cape underlined with red, a hand in a loose fist and a face marred by a frown, no mask in sight. Redbird didn't come prepared to fight –or simply wanted to make that impression; it was always hard to say where Drake’s mind-games started and ended these days.

“Unfortunately, no. I wanted to be the first one.”

How kind of him.

Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by quiet murmurs of the beast that spread itself behind Damian’s desk, falling asleep, but with one ear pointed up.

“Please say your part and leave, Drake, I am quite busy, as you can see.”

“Yeah, I can see. Your… project.”

It was a tactic perfected by Father, Damian knew, that later Drake co-opted into his identity: speaking few words and expecting others to fill out the awkward silence. Unfortunately for him, Damian wasn’t Richard or a New Titan anymore, silence was his preferred state of being recently.

But his mind worked, as it ought to, an internal investigation meant to find out where he overstepped, where he made a mistake and left a trace solid enough for the other alpha to take interest in. Or, was he tracking Damian’s movements ever since the tragedy? It would fit his _modus operandi_ , to express his care by stalking.

It was funny that it took years and an uncompromising mate to make Damian see and accept how creepy it all was –the way they’ve been all raised and conditioned by a series of emotionally stunted alphas who never quite seemed to know how to show affection.

But Drake wasn’t in the mood for games today, or maybe he was on a schedule. The Justice League couldn't afford to lose their leader for long periods of time.

“Damian.” Soft steps neared the chair and Timothy’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I know you’re in pain, believe me. He meant a lot to me, too.”

He wanted to snap something unforgivable, but didn’t. Drake was the only one who had the courage to confront him, to admit his grief. It meant something. It had to!

“Believe me, there isn’t a day when I don’t wish it would end differently, that there was a way to change that outcome...”

“Are you here to be a hypocrite, then?” Damian finally lifted his head, turned around on the chair and stood up. He was taller than Drake nowadays, taller than Richard and Father; the knowledge that he could stare at them from above always sent a pleased thrill through him. “Considering how well you’ve accepted Father’s death all these years ago.”

“Bruce wasn’t dead,” the alpha reminded through clenched teeth.

“And Jason isn't gone,” Damian countered even though it hurt to speak the name out loud. ”I’m not going to leave it at that, not this time. The first time around he was allowed to disappear, I am not going to allow for it to happen again.”

“You don't know that the one you’ll bring back will be even remotely similar to our Jason.”

Our. As if any of them had a claim to him. As if any of them could claim any in-depth knowledge of who Jason Todd was.

“If anyone were to judge that, Drake, it would be me. But I have no doubt that the core of him will be the same man.”

The glacial-blue eyes narrowed at him, Timothy’s mind working out a conclusion. “You did your research.” It was not a question.

“Did you expect anything else?” And this wasn’t really an answer. “An Al Ghul never goes in blind.”

And a Wayne never gives up hope.

* * *

Jason knew something wasn't right when he saw the child in the church.

For one, it was late and the main door has been closed for an hour already –he’d prefer to keep them open all night long for any lost soul that needed help, but Gotham was a dangerous city with no place safe enough to be an asylum. Father William’s orders were the law.

So, the door has been locked, but somehow a child managed to get inside and Father Jason didn't see it until the moment he was about to leave for the night after making sure there were no burning candles left.

“Hello,” he called, crossing the nave to approach the boy. “Did you get locked in?” It wouldn't be the first time when someone either fell asleep in a corner or hid away from the priests, hoping for a place to spend the night.

The boy, till then seemingly admiring the painting of the Immaculate Mary, turned towards him at the words and the alarm bells in Jason’s head started to chime. He was a young teen, short and slim, and there was something deeply unsettling about him that Jason’s brain struggled to name. He’d seen his share of weirdos out there, he was running with some in his youth; a young Goth should not make him nervous. But there was something more disquieting about this child than the dark kohl around his eyes and the pale cast of his skin. Something else than his outdated clothes.

It was partly a way the shadows seemed to cling to him as he stood at the edge of the light cast from the main nave, one foot in the dark, and watched the approaching priest with the same curiosity he had for the painting. His face was so slim the eyes seemed enormous. They didn't seem to reflect light.

“Do you need help?” Jason, however, wasn’t a coward. He was a man of God and wouldn't turn away a person in need, however strange they were. It was Gotham, after all, normal wasn’t the usual fare. “If you are looking for a place to sleep…”

“Out of all the versions, this one is the strangest,” the boy spoke over him. “And yet the cloth seems to fit you.”

Jason stopped in his tracks, wary now. Unfortunately, the Church was also a reliable magnet for crazy people. “Do I know you?”

“Possibly, a version of you did,” said the boy. “But that does not matter. I’m not the one who’s here to see you.”

Before Jason could formulate an answer to the strange claim, darkness behind the boy shifted, almost giving him a heart attack. He didn't notice before, but there was a third person in the church with them.

A man stepped into the light. Tall and wide in the shoulders, dressed in a dark suit underneath a fitted black coat. He wasn’t as pale as the boy, his skin was actually quite tan, but it only served to make his ivy-green eyes stand out more –and Jason noticed the colour only because they were piercing him with a stone-cold look that grew heavier and heavier with every step the stranger took.

He was handsome and well groomed in a frightening way Jason knew of men who were used to having power over others and no scruples to go with it.

Usually, he wasn’t easy to cow. He was a tall man himself, he wasn’t a pushover, he knew how to stand his ground ever since he was ten years old. He wasn’t going around looking for a fight, nowadays, but he wasn’t easily scared.

But this man caused goosebumps to break out on his skin and Jason was stuck in frozen stillness when the stranger stopped so close to him their feet nearly knocked and he had to tilt his head a tad to keep the eye contact.

“The Church is closed now,” he stammered stupidly, as if that was not obvious. “Please come back tomorrow.”

The hand that cupped his cheek was warm, but rough.

“No need,” the stranger replied. “I already have what I came for. ”


End file.
